


To Know A Vael

by joufancyhuh



Series: The Pigeon & The Prince [8]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Desire Demon - Freeform, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Family Bonding, Fighting Temptation, Forbidden Kiss, Friends fighting, Intrusive Thoughts, Mage Hawke - Freeform, Mage sympathizers, Magic, Minor Anders/Hawke, Minor Isabela/Hawke, Minor Isabela/Hawke/Anders, Post-Sex Explicitness, Promiscuity, Sibling Rivalry, Skirt chasing, Strong Language, Warden Carver Hawke, lovers to strangers, potential alcoholism, pre-existing relationship, shitty parenting, suicidal behavior
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-03-09 21:09:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 32,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13489830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joufancyhuh/pseuds/joufancyhuh
Summary: The Second Book in The Pigeon & The Prince series.Hawke never expected to see Sebastian again, not since he left her standing on her doorstep back in Lothering. And especially not as a devout brother to the Chantry, such a contrast from the wild, sex-driven Sebastian she knew in Ferelden. Hawke realized that time changed them both, but she never dreamed of anything like this.Not that she stayed the same, either.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Did I just use a pun as a title? Hell yes I did. 
> 
> And welcome back to Kalea and Sebastian. <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Let’s see what royal bastard we’re collecting from back at the Chantry.”_

 

 

“Well, that went easy enough.” Kalea grinned as she and her team set foot back inside Kirkwall city lines. She glanced over her shoulder to her companions. The dwarf assisted in starting their venture to collect any job postings around town, persisting in her and her brother to become Bartrand’s partners into the Deep Roads. Her brother sulked in the back of the group, his typical soured expression on his face.

Kalea slowed, letting their new pal, Anders, lead the charge toward the Chanter’s Board where they lifted the flyer, an arrow sticking out of it. She liked Anders, though she didn’t trust him too much, that spirit inside him suspicious at best. She’d never met another mage before, not one outside of her own bloodline, and one with a pact to a demon, spirit, whatever he wanted to call it, it left her wary.

But options were limited as far as Grey Wardens, and she admired his work in the clinics. She would offer to help, but she expected templars to come busting through his doors in Darktown at any moment. She had enough time keeping those monsters off her back without painting the bullseye on it.

“You still got that flyer, Varric?”

He nodded, patting his breast pocket. “Right here, Hawke. Need me to pull it out?”

She gave a curt nod as she slowed enough for them to walk side by side, twirling her bladed staff in the air. “Let’s see what royal bastard we’re collecting from back at the Chantry.”

The staff was Meeran’s idea, a way to keep her magic in check but also to keep the templars away. More than mages used staffs, but magic staffs tended to look a certain way. This provided her cover, and a way to fight if she was in a position to not use her magic. It also prevented any emotional magic overflow, which came in use through her frequent rentals of rooms at The Hanged Man. She only needed to keep it in the room.

Varric removed the paper, careful in his unfolding before scouring the document, announcing, “Prince Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven,” in a loud, official tone.

“A prince,” Anders sneered. “Sounds like a pampered pain in the ass.”

Carver grunted with exasperation behind them. “Let’s just get our pay-out and leave.”

Kalea’s bemused expression softened as she peeked behind her, Carver’s blazing anger igniting his hateful gaze. Carver stayed angry a lot these days, his default setting since Bethany’s death. It pained her to see the little brother she loved so scornful, even more so to his only sibling that remained. He blamed her for the misfortune that befell their family, obvious in his disdain for her.

“You can go home if you wish, Carver. I don’t need the group here to collect payment.”

Anders shook his head in the front, spinning around to walk backwards. “I want to make certain I get my fair share. That coin would go well to help the refugees.”

“Aren’t you a saint,” Varric snided, refolding the post to tuck back into his pocket.

Kalea lagged behind while the other two chided one another, letting them continue lead toward the Chantry while she paced with her brother. “What do you want,” he snapped.

“Go home. I’ll see you for supper.”

Carver shook his head. “I’m fine.” He kicked a rock by his feet, refusing to make eye contact.

Kalea sighed. The situation in Kirkwall was less than ideal, her heart pining for the freedom their out-of-the-way-home in Lothering provided. Here, she needed to practice caution in all she did, mage hunters at every turn, the streets flush with bandits at night.

She took her place at the head of the pack as they reached the stairs leading to the Chantry, slipping the paper from Varric’s pocket into her hand. She marched ahead, throwing open the doors to stand in front of the stage where Grand Cleric Elthina eyed her with curiosity. She’d heard of the Grand Cleric, of her obnoxiously neutral position in the war that waged between the Circle and the power hungry Templars, of her equal stance with the Qunari at the docks.

“And what, might I ask, is the infamous young Hawke doing at the Chantry?” The Grand Cleric’s voice drew power from the echo in the room, booming over Hawke’s jostling companions. They quieted down, though whether from respect or reverence, Kalea couldn’t say with certainty.

“I see my reputation precedes me,” Kalea’s lips grew a wicked grin as she bowed. “I’m here to collect on a job. Something something Prince Sebastian something. In short, we took out some mercs for this prick.”

The Grand Cleric’s brow furrowed. “He must’ve reposted after I tore it down.” The woman pinched the bridge of her nose as she sighed. “I’m afraid there is no payment to collect here. That post was not sanctioned by the Chantry; we cannot condone such an act of revenge.”

Kalea guffawed, not bothering to hide her reaction. She wagged a finger between the elder woman and herself. “Do we know the same Chantry? Because if I recall correctly, the Exalted Marches were their own forms of revenge.” She crossed her arms over her chest, not enthused about her options to collect what was owed to her and her companions. Threatening a Grand Cleric would surely hurt business, but she wasn’t above it. “Don’t insult my intelligence, old woman. Now a job was posted, my friends and I require payment for said job.”

“Is that a threat?” The Grand Cleric steeled herself against her podium. The way Kalea operated in Kirkwall, she half expected the woman to wave her arms and archers to surround them on the ceiling, as what was quickly becoming a tradition. But the woman leaned against her stand and glared down at the group. “I cannot allow a member of the Chantry to buy men’s lives, no matter how just the cause. It is murder, and we do not allow murder here.”

“Just imprisonment,” Kalea mumbled. To the Grand Cleric, she said, “I performed a service; I expect to get paid! Let me speak to this Sebastian. I am owed that much.”

The Grand Cleric shook her head. “I will pass on the news of his family’s murderers myself, but you are not to confront him. Now kindly, take your leave before you are forced to.”

Kalea glanced back to each of her companion’s faces. The job wasn’t worth getting Carver hurt, and fighting in a Chantry was frowned upon by most employers. She also wouldn’t be in a position to fight to her fullest extent, templars no doubt lurking in the halls nearby. She shifted her attentions back to the Grand Cleric. “You won’t be seeing the last of us.”

“I would hope so, but I fear that I know better than that.” The Grand Cleric sighed, but then a small gasp left her mouth as her eyes traveled to the top of the stairs on her right. “Sebastian!”

Kalea half-turned to meet the man who owed them. Her blood froze in her veins as her eyes connected with his all-too-familiar aquamarine ones, all her breath whooshing from her lungs in one fell swoop. Time slowed around the two of them as their gaze stayed connected, a rigidness entering in her stance, his slight pause on the stairwell before moving forward, each step down more deliberate than the last. Her body flushed with fire.

_Bas._

Varric cleared his throat, an air of questions and uncomfortable tension building in the room. Kalea spared one more look at him before doubling over, clutching her stomach as laughter burst forth from her chest.

“What-” Anders started.

“Wait…” Carver pointed to the descending man on the stairs. “That’s the Sebastian you-”

Kalea’s hand flew up and clamped over Carver’s mouth. “Don’t say another word,” she hissed, careful as she stepped back, a warning in her eyes.

She turned to Sebastian whose feet hit the ground floor. She could almost touch him if she wanted, go over and hold him to her, kiss him in front of that blood-draining wench Elthina and her would-be astonished companions, have him take her right there against the wall.

Sweet and unholy Maker, she wanted to make it happen, a flush spreading over her body at the familiarity of those plush lips, his nimble fingers clenching at his sides much like her own as she fought for restraint. He looked good. Better, even, than she remembered him. His hair grew to slightly past the nape of his neck, pushed back but the ends curling ever so slightly. Though his robes hung loose from his frame, she recognized the small jut of his hips, a small swing to them as he walked forward.

She licked her lips, her eyes trailing the length of his body before returning to his face, his expression carved in stone. “You left ... to go to the Chantry?” She didn’t miss the irony there, that the man who took her virginity, taught her about sex (and taught her well, she might add), was now a brother to the very establishment that wished to imprison her kind.

“It’s what my family wanted for me.”

“That’s why…” She breathed out a heavy sigh. “No letters. No address. Why you said-”

He rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable with the conversation or perhaps the audience that it gathered. “This isn’t-”

“You, a priest.” A cackle of laughter left her again. “Oh Sebastian, I know that mouth, and it is anything but holy.”

“Ahh,” the Grand Cleric interrupted from her stage, drawing attention away from Sebastian’s burning cheeks. “One of the unfortunate souls from Sebastian’s younger days. As you can see, his life is here now, doing the Maker’s work.”

“He was doing the Maker’s work before,” Kalea snapped. “The man truly has a gift.”

Anders snorted behind her as Carver groaned, hiding his reddened face in his hands. Varric listened intently, perhaps making mental notes for his stories.

“Kalea, please,” Sebastian pleaded as he ran a hand over his darkened face. “This is hardly the place-”

“You’re right,” she interrupted, her younger self knowing that there were many things she wished to say to him, to catch up properly once they were alone. “This isn’t about what happened between us. I came here for coin.”

“Aye, and you’ll receive it.”

The Grand Cleric moved to step down from her stage. “Sebastian, I’m begging you, don’t do this.”

Sebastian ignored the older woman’s protests, unclipping his purse and laying it into Kalea’s greedy palms, his fingers closing around hers as his gaze bore into hers. “Consider this an advance. When I take my lands back, I’ll pay you royally.”

“I hope in more ways than one,” she grinned, wetting her lips as her mind threatened to drown in the lost pools of his eyes. She yearned to close the distance, reconnect with his body the only way she knew how. It took all of her self restraint to stay in place, bowing instead. “Thank you, Prince Sebastian,” she teased, enjoying the fire that flickered under his skin. “I’ll be seeing you again, I promise that.”

The group remained quiet until they stepped outside the doors, Carver breaking the weirdness with a shrill, “What in the Maker’s name did I just witness?”

Kalea grinned as she gave one last glance over her shoulder to the shutting doors, her eyes catching the last of Sebastian’s intense stare. “Kirkwall just got a lot more interesting.”

Varric’s smile matched her own as he took out a small chunk of charcoal and one of his many scraps of paper he kept in his pockets. “I can’t wait.”  



	2. Hello, Nice To (Re)Meet You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Change doesn't take effect overnight.”_   
>  _“Seems like it did for you, Bas.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now I have to stop at this chapter until I get my DA2 guidebook so I can plan the outline. But I'm not going away, don't worry! Feel free to drop me a prompt on tumblr while you wait for an update or read any of my other stories. :)

Kalea returned to the Chantry the next day alone, an unfamiliar ache in her chest as she approached the gold double doors. She knew she ran a stupid risk, showing back up after her and the Grand Cleric’s stand-off the previous day. And for what, to see a ghost from her past, someone who left her behind years ago? In truth, she hadn’t thought about him for so long, not when thoughts of him mingled with the painful events that followed.

Her father’s death succeeded Sebastian’s abrupt departure from her life by less than a year. Her younger self spent a lot of time mourning the loss of them both. It took over the next year and a lot of alcohol mixed with random sex to get the memory of him and the freedom that accompanied out of her mind.

So why did she stand there, letting this man affect her once more so wholly like she was still lovestruck and twenty-one? She should leave, go home, let things be. She shouldn’t traverse down this road; she needed to return to Gamlen’s, or maybe the Hanged Man, and drown her questions in the bottom of glass after glass.

But Sebastian, _her_ Sebastian, just lost his family, and for everything he gave her when her father ailed, she owed him at least her shoulder. For old times sake, she convinced herself, though she couldn’t deny the very immediate reaction her body had to seeing him again.

And in the interest of self preservation, she needed assurance that he wouldn’t let the world know about her magical capabilities. Call an excuse what it was, but his new position worried her in that aspect, his sex appeal aside. He owed her no loyalty, but she sought it all the same.

She drew in a deep breath and pushed through the doors, on alert for Elthina’s shrill voice to condemn her back out from whence she came. Instead, a Chantry sister sat alone, polishing the brass (there was an innuendo in there, Kalea just knew it) as she hummed a ditty. Kalea snuck up on her, careful for any hidden archers or lurking templars.

“Excuse me,” Kalea said, the sister near jumping out of her skin. The sister, very pretty with her strands of yellow silk hair, half spun with a gorgeous shade of blush dotting her freckled cheeks. Ah, so this was Sebastian’s angle, seducing young practitioners; how could the man she knew resist such a lovely face? She could barely resist herself, the young maiden’s beauty shining like a light out of the candle. If Kalea didn’t have this Very Important Business that she assigned herself, she might try and find a quiet closet somewhere to show the maiden just what magic an apostate like herself could work.

“Yes?”

Maker, even the voice was lovely, like the gentle tingling of small bells. Kalea couldn’t help herself, stepping into the sister’s personal space to play with the hem of the maiden’s sleeve. The sister blushed but didn’t pull away, flattered by the attentions. “I’m looking for someone. A brother here at the Chantry.”

The little minx stuck out her bottom lip, quivering it just so as she responded, “Are you sure I can’t help you?”

“Mmm, Maybe you can.” Kalea tucked the woman’s hair behind her ear as she leaned in, intent on capturing those beautiful plush lips that sat so perfect on her face.

“You’re needed in the kitchens, Sister Margaret,” an all-too familiar accent cut through Kalea’s seduction. She huffed as the sister scurried away, the young woman’s cheeks aflame.

Kalea turned to face the stone-faced Starkhavener. She bowed in greeting, her lips twisting into a wicked grin as her eyes connected with his. “Ah, the Prince Sebastian himself. Just the man I was coming to see.”

“Were you,” he mused, arms crossed over his chest. “Didn’t appear that way to me.”

“What can I say, I got distracted. But I see now why you’ve committed yourself to the Chantry.” She scanned his face for a reaction while hiding her own, hoping her bitter feelings didn’t leak into her voice. She offered him a home, herself, and he chose...this. It was difficult to not take it personally. The sex with her couldn’t have been that bad, beginner or not.

A flush crept up his neck, a strange look for the confidant playboy. “I’m not that person anymore, Kalea. I have vows, promises to the Maker.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll believe it when I see proof, but whatever you want to tell yourself. But I didn’t come here for her, though I might return for her. I came to check on you.”

She noted his small responses of surprise, though he tried to hide them: the widening of his eyes, the softening in his stance, his frown shifting into a more neutral expression. “On me?”

“Yeah.” Oh shit, this was awkward. She rubbed a hand on the back of her neck as her eyes drifted to above his head. “You know, with your family and all.”

He sighed, his arms falling to his side. “You and I have much to catch up on.”

“The truth would be nice for a change, your Highness.” She sneered the last two words, despite her intent to keep her tone neutral. She couldn’t help the harshness that leaked through, not when it appeared as though all her assumptions about him were off. A fucking prince?

In his defense, he never said he wasn’t a prince.

“Aye.” He sounded tired, as though the burden laid on his lungs with a pressing weight. He started through a side door, holding it open behind him. “Come. We’ll sit in the gardens and talk.”

He led her out down corridors and through more doors, the two of them ending in a flourishing courtyard set an gold fountain as its center, a gaudy display of the Chantry’s wealth. His fellow sisters and brothers made a point of avoiding eye contact with her as they tended to the plants or kneeled by a large statue of Andraste in prayer. She glared at any who dared look her way, baring her teeth and snapping her jaw to ward any lingering glances.

Sebastian took them to a private corner of the garden slightly hidden from the main path, a small white gazebo built with a set of benches under the circular railing. He sat to the opposite side of her, a grave expression still drawn onto his lips, his ocean-colored eyes flickering to her mild gaze. “You shouldn't have come back. Her Grace will be displeased when she learns of your visit.”

Kalea sunk into the bench on the other side, spreading her arms across the top of the railing. “She can fucking bite me.” She kicked her feet out in the distance. “I'm not here to cause more trouble.”

“Are you not? So that wasn't you trying to seduce one of our newest initiates?”

“Hey, she seduced me. That cute lip quiver, those big puppy eyes. I'm only human.” She grinned, it falling short as she noticed her companion lack of enthusiasm. She stretched her foot toward him, tapping the toe of her boot to his. “Not even a hint of a smile at that?”

“I told you, I'm not the same person you knew. Which stands as to why exactly you're here, lass? We haven't seen each other in-”

“-over five years,” she finished for him, her eyes casting down to the ground. “I'm aware how long it's been.”

A thick tension oozed between them as both made a point not to look at the other. She didn't know how to break it, her mind once again asking why she was there, what she hoped to gain from this exchange. It bothered her that she didn’t have answers to the questions her mind asked of her.

Sebastian cleared his throat, causing her attention to jump back to him. “Did you hear about the Hero of Ferelden?”

Kalea scowled, bringing one of her hands into her hair to run through it. “Yeah, I heard. Every fucking detail.”

He leaned forward, his hand skimming her knee before withdrawing back, perhaps deciding the action too forward. “I'm sorry. There was nothing more we could've done back then.”

For the first time since she heard the news, she didn’t bother to temper her reaction. “I think the worst of it was that the Warden healed a stranger, just a bloody pawn in a fucking political game. Arl Eamon meant nothing to her.” She blinked back angry tears threatening to spill down her cheeks, a little surprised to feel them prickled at her eyes. “We deserved to find those ashes, us. She only found them because we did the grunt work, chasing down the dead leads. And she got to reap the fucking benefits.”.

“Your father, is he…?”

She nodded. “He and Bethany. An ogre got to her when we ran from the Blight.”

“I'm so sorry to hear that, Kalea.”

She wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt before meeting his gaze, annoyed at the concern there. She wasn’t here for her, not outside of making sure her secret stayed safe. “And you? You just lost your entire family so enough about mine.”

The sympathy in his face faded back into stone. “Their loss is hard felt by all of Starkhaven.”

“And _you_?”

She noted the slight hesitation in his voice before he spoke. “My feelings on the matter are more complex.” His hands began to twist on his lap, his brows pinched together as though trying to figure out the answer for himself.

“You left for them.” She reached out to pat his knee, but he flinched under her touch. Her nose wrinkled as she leaned back in her seat. Message received.

“I came back to fulfill my duty to the throne. As for the mercenaries, whoever hired them wished to wipe out the entire Vael line, myself included.”

“You can’t disguise revenge and label it self preservation," she said. She did a lot in the name of preservation, for herself and her family. She knew the difference well. "That anger I saw in you yesterday, I know what appearance vengeance takes on a man’s face.”

Despite an obvious attempt to fight it, his lips curled up into a small grin.

“You always did know how to read me.” He sighed, his hands smoothing down his robes to dig into his knees. “Aye, it is comforting to think my parents might now rest easily in their graves.”

She returned his smile, his words pinking her cheeks similar to her younger years. “I know that sentiments come cheap, but I hope the mercs' deaths bring you peace.”

His robes clenched in the fists that formed. “I won’t be satisfied until the person who hired them lies dead at my feet.” The rage in him flared in his eyes, a storm brewing in his tempered expression.

“Now that doesn’t sound very brother-like,” she teased, crossing her legs while assessing the gardens, making sure no curious eavesdroppers strayed near. “You know, if you told me about what your parents planned for you, I wouldn’t have pushed. You know how I feel about the Chantry.”

He hung his head to his chest, hair falling into his vision that he didn’t register or bother to push back. “I wondered when we’d get to that.”

She rolled her eyes at his guilt. “Sex so good it sent you to the Maker, yeah?”

A pink tinge entered his cheeks. “It wasn't like that. I fulfilled my responsibility to my family by coming here. It's Starkhaven tradition to send the third child to the Chantry so they don't have a claim to the throne.”

The mention of his noble upbringing surged the outrage in her once more. “And oh yeah, you’re a fucking prince? A prince who stole purses and let us struggle for food out on the road?” She didn’t realize how much fury boiled inside her since she found out the day before, but it scorched her tongue as her heated words lashed out against him. “A prince who now practices in the very establishment that preaches imprisonment of my kind. I don’t know that there is a bigger _Fuck You_ than this, I honestly don’t.”

He shrunk back to the bitterness in her voice, the consuming fire in her glare. “I didn't have a _choice_. I thought that maybe I could change things for people like you here, help where I can.”

“Real bang up job you're doing there. Kirkwall’s Circle is a hot mess.” She couldn't hold him responsible for that, he was one man, but she'd be damned if she didn't try.

He nodded, running his hands through his hair to push it back. “Change doesn't take effect overnight.”

“Seems like it did for you, Bas.” She fell silent, kicking her foot out once more. “But I guess I didn’t really know you as well as I thought, either.” She jumped to her feet, him scrambling to his beside her. “Look, I need to make sure no templars are going to come knocking on my door in the middle of the night. Obviously you’re good at keeping secrets, so tell me, are you going to keep mine?”

“If I said no, I think you’d actually kill me where I stand,” he chuckled. She didn’t crack a smile, her eyes narrowing at his bad joke. He quickly backtracked. “Aye, of course I’ll keep it. That was never in question.”

“Good.” She turned to leave, to storm out and hopefully not get lost in the Chantry’s many hallways, but a hand on her wrist stayed her movement.

“Kalea.” She glanced behind her, to where he now stood, hand at the back of his neck as he tried not to look at her. “Thank you … for checking up on me. It's not unappreciated.” He paused, drawing back his hand to his side. “Though I guess I now know why The Pearl called you Little Bird. Hawke. That's a nice name.”

“Buttering me up isn’t going to help, your Highness,” she sneered, but it worked, her vexation fading enough for her to add, “I always preferred your name for me.”

His expression faltered, a slight warding entering his gaze. “Things can’t go back to how they were, Pidge.”

“I don’t want them to, you pompous ass.” But she managed a grin. “You always were full of yourself. But I guess now it makes sense why.”

As she left, she considered that she still didn't know where this left them. Were they friends again? Acquaintances? Not strangers. She knew too much about him intimately to ever be strangers again. But whatever the two of them defined themselves as, it gave her hope. A hope for what, she couldn't say for certain. But hope nonetheless.

* * *

 

Carver waited for her outside of Gamlen's, back leaning against the house as his cautious blue eyes watched her approach. When Kalea neared, he straightened up, crossing his arms over his chest. “You went to see him, didn't you?”

She didn't need to ask who he meant. She nodded as she continued forward, only stopping when she reached inches from her brother. “He lost his family. What can I say, I relate pretty well to that.” She moved to sit on the stairs, patting the open spot next to her. “I never realized you knew about him.”

“Beth wasn't the best secret keeper. And it was obvious something happened to you out there.” He plopped down onto the stairs, keeping a thin line of distance between them.

She chewed her lip, her hands twisting in her lap as she gazed out at the street below. “Does Mother know?”

He shook his head. “No, we knew better than to tell her. She already rode you hard enough without knowing the facts.” A soft sigh passed his lips. “So that's him.”

She leaned back as she turned her attention to the blue sky above. “Yeah, that's him.”

“I always pictured him … bigger. More muscles.”

She laughed, a small smile on his lips. She missed this, the camaraderie between her and her sibling. She nudged his shoulder with hers before laying her head on his shoulder. “Nope, I like them lean. Lean, and apparently, holy.”

Carver chuckled at that. She wound her hand into his, offering a short squeeze. “Are you going to see him again?”

The smile on her lips faltered. “I think it’s better if I didn’t.”

“I never pictured you as a quitter.” Carver’s light tease set her heart a-flutter, remnants of their old relationship. They hadn't gotten along this well since Ferelden, before the Blight. “You’ve never shied away from going after what you want.”

“I never said I wanted him again. Been there, done that.” But the laugh that followed felt forced, an echo of her usual self. Did she want him again? Not that it mattered. He was a man of the cloth now, and cloths tended to come with vows. And one of the traits she admired most about Sebastian, he always followed through, though it may take a few tries to get him there.

Carver rolled his eyes. “Keep telling yourself that, but we all saw your face when he walked into the room.”


	3. Shepherding Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I said step aside, Sebastian. I won’t ask again.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attention to everyone reading this fic: I played Kalea's playthrough and realized the two earlier chapters to this fic were, well, wrong. So I rewrote them. So you might want to go back and read especially Chapter 2. 
> 
> The good news, Spec Recs is done and now I can focus on this series again. I have a pretty detailed outline and big big things are on the way with this. I'm aiming to get through all of Act One's chapters this month.

Sebastian’s presence stilted the air of Kirkwall similar to a heavy fog that drifted between her ears, tendrils entwining around her brain and leaving it hard to think. She felt him in gusts of wind, eyes automatically scanning every face in the crowds in search of him. Carver’s taunt about her expression when she saw him again, the first time in five years, wouldn’t vacate her thoughts, though she held more pressing matters to think on, such as gaining the coin for the venture into the Deep Roads.

But whenever she closed her eyes, Sebastian’s face lingered behind her eyelids, waiting. In the dark of the room she shared with Carver and their mother, she recognized his frame in the shadows, his soft accent calling to her, hands threading through her hair as if he’d left her life only yesterday. He visited in dreams, holding her to his lithe frame, his secret name for her whispered into her lips while his hands worked to disrobe her. She knew these dreams well, fading remnants from Lothering as she sought to recover herself from his grasp.

And she accomplished that, but only by entering the beds of others, to trade the original pioneer of her virginal flesh for tavern men and wenches, replacing familiarity with strangers who didn’t understand why she wore a disguised magic dampener around her wrist like a bracelet. Strangers she used and who used her, stepping stones to the path of recovery from the kind asshole who ignited her heart while stomping it into the ground.

She healed, eventually, each random bed keeping another piece of her, tearing away at her flesh while building another layer of defense around her tender heart. Sex and alcohol and the knowledge that she wouldn’t be able to find him, even if she tried.

And now she didn’t try, not at all, and there he stood in the Chantry, a ghost of someone she used to know. Or thought she did anyway. Whatever she felt for him replaced itself with an unbridled outrage at the falsehoods he fed her while they traveled together.

The more she obsessed, the angrier she grew, wondering how much of her memory rang true, what else he hid from her. And worst of all came the fury at herself, because part of her understood. The Circle or poverty? Her father chose poverty. All of them did by running their whole lives from rumors that brought templars.

And for her parents’ romantic notions, the family suffered. How many nights did she go hungry, scarcely a crumb in her stomach? And this before the twins were born. Kalea never forgot that hunger, the draft from the first hovel they lived in, just the three of them. For someone to choose that, it insulted the very struggle she endured just to survive to the next day, and the next.

But she understood, betrayed by her own logic. Chantry or poverty, the Circle or near-death; imprisonment wore a shiny name for the truth of it.

Kalea slammed down her empty mug on the counter of the Hanged Man, the bartender clued in to bring her a fresh round of ale without prompting. Fuck, she didn’t ask for this, not for him, not now.

And what did she do with this information? It changed nothing on the physical front, the goal of gathering coin for the expedition still at the forefront of her mind. But outside of that, the winds shifted around her, the telling of an impending storm. One her magic wouldn’t defend her from.

Ale dulled her senses enough that her ex-lover’s spectre only buzzed in the corners of her mind, away from the present moment as she downed yet another mug before ordering her last for the night. Gamlen generally frowned at her late night entry back into the house, though the man sneered at damn near everything. Did he ever smile? She couldn’t remember, but then again, as the alcohol worked its liquid magic, she didn’t care. She stumbled off the stool when she attempted to climb down to her feet, done with her evening binge drinking and unenthused by anyone in the crowd for a quick romp in the back.

Varric, from some unknown corner behind where she once sat, darted into her jagged path to the door, blocking her exit. “Let me walk you home, Hawke.” A hand on her arm to keep her swaying in place, he glanced to where she once sat at the bar. “No staff?”

“Not like I need it to fight,” she slurred, each blink growing longer, her head heavier in each passing second as it lolled to the side, her shoulder the only means of support. “I do just fine with-without it.”

Varric grinned, eyebrows quirked in amusement as he maneuvered her out the door. He veered right, but Kalea did her best to shake her head, her brown hair flying into her face. “I want to take the long way.”

“Lowtown’s dangerous at night, remember? And that last group of bandits promised they’d return with friends.”

“They can fucking try me,” Kalea grumbled, fireballs igniting in her palms as she glared out against the night.  

Varric jumped back, motioning for her to close her hands while keeping an eye out for anyone who might spot her use of magic. “Put those away, Hawke, or they’ll throw you in the Circle.”

“I’ll just break free, we all know that.” She extinguished the flames only to tug him to the left. “Come on. Some fresh air might do us both some good.” She sprinted away, giggling and twirling, jumping down the few steps before pausing for Varric to catch up. “You’re a good friend,” she grinned, hopping back on one foot, pretending to balance herself with her hand still in the cut of higher ground. “I’m glad we’re friends.”

He chuckled. “Me too, Hawke.” He set a leisurely pace ahead, knowing she’d catch up when she would. As he neared the cut-off for an alley, the scraping of boots caught his attention. Kalea darted forward, but when he drew Bianca into his arms, primed and ready for attack, the sparkling in her eyes left for a somber expression. “Hear that?” he whispered, waiting for her to clear out the self-inflicted brain fog.

“Help,” a woman shrieked, a clatter echoing on the other side of the stone leading towards the foundry.

Kalea wasted no time spinning into the opening, fire twirling around in a bright chaotic circle. With her luck, no templars stood witness, just common street thugs that no one would miss if she took no prisoners. The draw of fire around her sobered up her earlier state, her focus on the battle in front of her.

But the flash of blue and red Chantry robes caught her attention and her breath, her heart pounding in her chest as she fought to pay attention to the men advancing on the sudden intruders.

“Apostate,” one of the uglier ones hissed.

“You know, I really hate that word,” Kalea responded, brow furrowed as she shot a line of fire toward the man. He screamed, falling to his knees and writhing on the ground.

Varric called out his shots, taking down the two closest and allotting her time to check out the victim of this attack. She wanted to solidify that it absolutely wasn’t him. Indeed, short blonde hair topped the pale woman’s head as she cowered by the stairs.

Kalea let out a heavy breath. _Not Sebastian then_. The confirmation cleared her mind of distractions, switching her fire for lightning as she ran it through the five bandits left standing, their armor electrifying while their bodies convulsed, spit frothing from their mouths agape in agony.

Varric groaned. “Unfair advantage. Bianca can only move so fast.”

“Next time, I’ll try to move slower so you can keep up,” she abated before shifting focus to the woman approaching with caution. “You run around in the shady alleys of Lowtown often, Sister?”

Something about the Sister, Kalea couldn’t name it but she knew to keep her guard up. She didn’t trust this person, a gut reaction to the the Sister’s cold, calculating eyes. Kalea usually saw a gratitude in the people she saved, or fear at her abilities and the near death situation they escaped.

This woman stood in front of Kalea with her shoulders squared, no appreciation nor alarm in her dark eyes.

“Thank you for your timely intervention. I am… out of my element.”

Despite the pause, Kalea felt the woman’s words rehearsed, a damsel only playing at distress. “And why would that be exactly? Down here cavorting with us heathens instead of playing Maker up in your golden tower? I don’t buy it.”

“Careful, Hawke,” Varric warned, his tone a reminder that this woman could throw her in the Circle should she choose.

The woman’s eyes widened, only slightly, but enough for Kalea to spot recognition when she saw it. So the Sister knew of her, perhaps the reputation she’d built as well. “I had to come here to get the type of person I need. Someone of bloody skill, but also integrity. Perhaps the kind who might leap to another’s defense?”

So the fight was staged then, a lure for her. The more the Sister talked, the less Kalea liked her, which wasn’t much to begin with. “If this is a job, spare me your sob story and get to the details. You’ll find I have very little tolerance for manipulation.”

The woman gave a curt nod. “Very well. I have a charge who needs passage from the city. If you are willing and capable, meet me at my safehouse nearby.”

Kalea mused over the idea. She needed coin, but the Sister unsettled her. How desperate were they for equipment in the Deep Roads exactly?

The woman continued on when she recognized Kalea’s hesitation. “I would think someone of your… talents might help one of your own. I hope you will come. This matter only grows more urgent with time.”

Kalea watched the woman scurry away before turning to Varric. “Did she just make a threat at me? You heard that, right?”

“I think the Grand Cleric might have an issue if you kill one of her charges. Not that you haven’t pissed her off enough.” Varric stooped in front of her, rifling through the pockets of the dead men on the ground.

Kalea bent to help. “Do you trust her?”

Varric shook his head, pushing out one of his arrows through a thug’s chest. The practice saved him money, and since somehow buying supplies got passed to her, she encouraged the exercise. “But I don’t trust most of the people we deal with.”

She sighed, glancing where the sister went. “Well, I guess we need to wake up the two closest, my brother and Merrill. We just got another job.”

* * *

 

Kalea’s distrust of Petrice was justified.

Hawke’s glare rivaled that of the Qunari before her, though the helmet Arvaarad wore skewed his expression. Through the slits, the man’s anger radiated outward, though no match for her own. She tried to help, again, and this was her reward. Somehow, she knew no coin awaited her back at the hideaway.

“Look, assholes, I’m having a bad week here. I really don’t want to kill you since it’ll piss off the Arishok, but don’t fucking push me on this. _Saarebas_ , Ketojan, whatever you want to call this mage, he stays with me.”

The Qunari mage slanted his gaze in Kalea’s direction, the usual unreadable expression on his face as Arvaarad protested, “He wants what the Qun demands. He is nothing else.”

Kalea’s magic thrummed as the tension built in the air, readying for the fight ahead. But her eyes remained on Ketojan, who kneeled so willingly before his kind. If she made the choice for him, she was no better than her opposers.

“Why don’t we ask him what he wants?” She stepped back, leaving enough room for the other mage to move as he wished. “If he chooses me, then I’ll be at his defense. And if he chooses you, you’ll have no further qualm from me.”

Arvaarad considered her proposal, she noted in his hesitation before moving back. “Consider this a teaching moment, _basra_ . You will see that _sarebaas_ accept their fates, one in which you have interfered.

Ketojan stood, facing his Qunari brethren, a growl in his throat. When Arvaarad stepped forward, Kalea did too, ready at her new friend’s defense. But Arvaarad stayed in place, responding to the ineligible growl with a, “You are certain?”

Ketojan growled again. Kalea waited for him to finish before asking, “You understand that?”

Arvaarad ignored her question, reaching behind him to pull a glowing wand. Kalea raised her staff, aiming at the offending party. Ketojan placed his hand on it, lowering it as a beam of light shot from the wand to his face.

The Qunari mage turned his attention to her. “ _Basvaarad_ , you led well.”

_Piss on a stick, he can talk now._

Kalea moved her staff, standing it beside her to lean on it as Ketojan continued.

“I thank your intent.” He bowed to her, allowing her a peek at the now-removed stitches that disappeared in the burst of light. “ _Panahedan_ , as you find the Qun.”

With that, he straightened his back, walking to where Arvaarad awaited and taking a knee before him. The standing Qunari looked to Kalea. “You should be honoured by this action, _basra_.”

The sword on Arvaarad’s back drew out of its sheath. “It is his last,” filtered through the air and into her brain without enough time to register or prompt a timely reaction as the blade drove through Ketojan’s chest.

“No!” she cried, flames pouring into a circle to round up the band of Qunari into one space. “He surrendered! Why would you kill him?”

“He lost his head--the risk of corruption was certain. But he has owned his death by honouring you. He knows the Qun once more.” Arvaarad pointed the sword in her direction. “Stand down. This is our way.”

“Fuck your way,” Kalea replied through gritted teeth, a shuffling behind her of her companions preparing for the impending fight. “You’ll pay for what you did to him.”

* * *

 

Kalea half expected to find Sister Petrice and Ser Varnell tucked away cozily in their hideaway, sipping wine and laughing to themselves how they duped her and her party into their clever little trap. But not even a shred of evidence against them stuck behind, the only clues to the schemers’ whereabouts the sigils that had donned their earlier clothing. Given the choice between a Chantry sister and a hardened templar, no real choice was needed in the matter as she hurried toward the golden building sitting high on its perch.

They cut across the bustling markets, weaving in and out of the crowd. Kalea wondered if they stood out, paltry armor and bleary eyes from the lack of sleep robbed by the mission to escort Ketojan out of city lines. Maybe the paint on her face spoke volumes as someone not to be trifled with, a hard setting to her features while she stomped through the courtyards. Or maybe the bloodstains from the Qunari who opposed her until their last breath, a hard battle but one she no less stood victor. Perhaps those factors contributed to the why of any who neared suddenly turned heel, careful to avoid their crusade.

Mind consumed solely with vengeful fury, Kalea flew up the many stairs to the Chantry’s ornate double doors, throwing them open and stalking forward, initiates cowering from her wrath. Only her staff maintained her magic from spilling out to strike at them, to lick at the support structures holding the roof to this den of corruption and falsehoods.

But her temper wavered as she spotted him, rising from his knees, the annoyed expression on his face evident even before he turned around. His aquamarine eyes brewed storms she knew her magic could deliver right there in the building. Her eyes conveyed the message - _fucking try me_ \- as she drew her staff, blade pointed at the ground.

“Where is she?” she spat, her eyes tearing away for a quick second to assess the balconies for the pale blonde. No sign of Petrice or her templar friend. Her mind flickered with the consideration that maybe Petrice stayed away from the Chantry, knowing that would be the first place the young mage checked, but Kalea squashed the thought when her gaze fell back onto Sebastian.

“You’re not welcome here, Kalea. Sister Petrice told Her Grace of your inclinations toward her.”

Her nostrils flared at the righteousness evident in his tone, the wariness in his handling of her. “Sister Petrice tried to have me and my friends here killed. Step aside, Sebastian. This doesn’t concern you.”

She moved to take the stairs to the left, but in one short movement, he flew to block her path forward, arms held at his side in a defenseless stance but she knew better. Blades hid waiting up the sleeves of his innocent Chantry boy robes; she could see it in his stance, the way he readied the knives to slide into his palms to lob in her direction. She gritted her teeth, raising her staff and pointing the sharp metal tip into the center of his chest. “I said step aside, Sebastian. I won’t ask again.”

“I’d listen to her, Choir Boy,” Varric’s voice filtered into her mind as though he stood at the far end of a large tunnel. His words barely registered over the blood pounding in her ears, her attention held only by the person in front of her.

Would she really fight him, drive that blade into him without a second thought to get at someone who wronged her?

 _Yes_.

Sebastian chose his side five years ago. She owed him nothing more than she’d offered the previous week when she let her anger and nostalgia get the best of her. But today, there in front of the stairs to the balconies, she held no nostalgia; only confused fury that didn’t know if it burned only for Petrice, or if the once-friend standing before her renewed its intensity.

“Sister Petrice told us what you did. How you killed those Qunari and how you came after her when you spied her witnessing your crimes.”

Kalea turned her head and spat on the floor. “I shouldn’t be surprised that you believe her. Your kind always stick to their own. Maker’s flock of sheep indeed, though the Sister is a wolf in your clothing.” She tilted the spearhead back, nicking a piece of his robes. “Blood for blood. Bitch tried to kill me, it’s only fair I return the favor.”

Varric attempted to slink away, back toward the opposite balcony. One of the knives slid into Sebastian’s palm, but before he could throw, Kalea dug the blade into him, a trickle of blood dotting her blade. “I wouldn’t do that.”

Addressing Varric, she called out, eyes glued to Sebastian, “Choir Boy wants to see if you can outrun one of his knives. You feeling lucky, Varric?”

“Just looking for the chamberpots,” Varric joked, still easing back until he hit the stairs.

Her attention not straying from the near snarling man in front of her, she called to the rest of her companions, “Spread out and search this room. The Sister’s here somewhere.”

“You don’t know what an enemy you’ve just made,” Sebastian hissed, a sneer on his lips, ones that used to kiss her goodnight, that blazed paths across her body like their own version of cartography. Lips that also betrayed, that promised goodbye.

_You should’ve stayed gone, Bas._

“You? While I’ve been out there honing my skills, you’ve been rotting here in the Chantry. You really want to have a go, Your Highness?” She didn’t loosen the grip on the staff, tightening it as she added through clenched teeth. “Sister Petrice is a menace to Kirkwall and needs to be dealt with, so back the fuck off and let me do what I came here to do.”

He didn’t falter, not even a slight pause as he countered with, “People share the same sentiments about you, Kalea.”

She scowled, opening her mouth to say more but Carver’s voice rang out, “She’s not up here.”

“Where the fuck is she, Sebastian?” Kalea resisted the urge to dig the blade in deeper to draw out the answer. She didn’t condone torture, though his smug indignation made that decision a difficult one. “I know you know.”

“Somewhere safe from you.” He didn’t flinch, didn’t bat an eye at the opposing end of her staff. She let out a silent groan. He wouldn’t talk, his loyalty to his fellow Sisters and Brothers apparent in the unwavering bravery of his gaze.

“I have a message for you to deliver then. Tell her if I see her fucking face outside this building, her ass is in the ground with those Qunari she sent after me. Got it?” She didn’t wait for him to reply, whistling to gather her companions. “Let’s head out. His Royal Pain-In-The-Ass doesn’t appreciate our instincts for self-preservation.”

She kept her staff raised as she stepped backwards, guiding herself toward the exit while keeping her eyes trained on him. He moved to avoid breaking contact, both regarding the other with a wariness akin to predator and prey.

One guess to who held the mantle of prey.

“Don’t come here again, lass,” he warned as her back nudged the open door.

“Go fuck yourself,” she spat, the door slamming shut between them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wasn't expecting this level of anger from our girl either? It kind of blindsided me. She has a lot of emotions. 
> 
> Special thanks to [dismalzelenka](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dismalzelenka/pseuds/dismalzelenka) for betaing, you sweet sweet person.


	4. Birthright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"You’re no hero, just a lousy drunk in disguise.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter turned into a shit-show fast. And it just got divided in two. 
> 
> A moment of silence for the super nice Gamlen and Kalea moment that ended up getting scrapped to make this chapter work. 
> 
> Special thanks to [dismalzelenka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dismalzelenka/pseuds/dismalzelenka) for betaing. <3

“-if you hadn’t gotten us banned from taking jobs on the Chanters Board!” Carver’s voice hounded after Kalea as he kept to her heels. The argument that originated in Hightown carried on to Lowtown, the elder Hawke doing her best to ignore her younger brother while stalking back to Gamlen’s for the evening.

“Yeah, sure, bring that up again! That certainly never gets old.” Kalea huffed, tearing down the stairs, desperate to get away from the current annoyance that plagued her descent. “It’s been two months, Carver. You need to let it go and stop bellyaching!”

“Couldn’t your ex-boyfriend get us back into the Grand Cleric’s good graces? We need the coin, especially with you drinking away what little we collect!”

Kalea ducked into the crowded markets, weaving between people in an attempt to lose him. “I’m not asking His Royal Jackass for anything, so stop pestering me about it!”

“That job on the board can put us near our goal!” Carver followed close behind, his height a disadvantage in her struggle to lose him.

“I’m not asking him and that’s final, so drop it! Ugh!” She stormed out of the markets and up the stairs, veering sharp left and almost clipping a few wanderers who threw glares into her back. “We don’t need him or his bloody Chantry’s help getting to the Deep Roads, so Leave. It. Alone.”

“You never listen to my ideas! Everything is always about you and what you want to do.” Carver loomed at her back, reaching out to tug at her hair in a childish manner.

She sped up, narrow in her escape from his boyish grasp. “Here we go, you and your damn whining about my shadow again.” She leapt up the stairs toward the hovel, desperate to enter before Carver started up on his egotistical rant about why this and why that and how she stole all the glory from him and no one respected him because of it.

She knew that if she made it inside proceeding the beginning of Carver’s remarks, the sight of their mother would halt any sharp barb or boyish whining. Kalea threw open the door as the first syllable of a word left his throat, dashing into the center of the room.

Her argument with Carver fizzled in lieu of the heated words exchanged between the Amell siblings, her mother’s arms gesturing in the air while she squared off with Gamlen in front of the hearth.

“My children have been in servitude-servitude!-for a year. They should be nobility!”

The ever-familiar sneer twisted Gamlen’s face, ignorant of Kalea’s creep closer to the conversation. “If wishes were poppy, we’d all be dreaming!”

Resisting a sigh, responsibility fell once more to the eldest Hawke to solve this problem. She stepped between them, hands raised and pushing back on their shoulders to separate them from any physical blows that might occur.

Bethany used to employ this tactic, she recalled with bittersweet nostalgia, a glance to Carver’s face glowering in recognition of the move. She didn’t mean to do it; the stance came naturally as she sought to separate the two from their fight, the mantle of peacekeeper yet another title for Kalea to wield. She blinked away any tears threatening to form at the memory of who held the title before her, the next words to manifest on her tongue also stolen from the sweet girl. “That’s enough, you two.”

She glared at both of them, focusing on her mother the most. “This is the way things are, Mother. Gamlen can’t change it now.” She bit her tongue about how they were used to this lifestyle, scrounging to survive. Many refugees still lingered in Darktown, homeless and hungry, waiting for death to take them. At least here, they had a roof over their heads.

She knew her mother wouldn’t appreciate the sentiment.

“Your mother was supposed to marry the Comte de Launcet,” Gamlen interrupted, though his tone suggested his temper died out, replaced with exasperation. “And instead she ran off with some Fereldan apostate.”

“My father has a name,” Kalea growled, lowering her arms back to her side. “You’d be wise to use it in front of his children.”

Gamlen ignored her veiled threat, grey eyes fixated on his sister. “You don’t get to stay the favorite when you do that.”

Her mother didn’t share in Gamlen’s willingness to let the disagreement die down. She surged forward, Kalea forced to hold her back once more. “Where is Father’s will? If I could just see for myself-”

The inflection in Gamlen’s voice sounded suspiciously reminiscent of Carver’s when he grew annoyed.  _ It must run in the family. _

“It’s not here, all right? It was read, it went in the vault. No one needed to look at it again.”

“There has to be a way-”

“Leandra, stop this nonsense.” Gamlen’s words stilled even Carver’s restless fidgeting, the light twisting of his hands and the rocking on his feet. All three shifted their attention toward the owner of their makeshift home. “Get used to Lowtown, sister. That’s where we’re going to stay.”

Her mother stormed off in a huff, slamming the door to the shared room as she sealed herself away. The three remaining glanced at each other in slight shock at the temper tantrum they witnessed. Kalea brushed her hair back over her shoulder, eyes sliding from Gamlen’s to Carver’s. 

She shrugged, her feet already guiding her to the outside door. “Well, I guess I can get that head start on the Hanged Man. See you lot later.”

* * *

 

Carver followed Kalea to the bar a short time later, towering over the table where his half-drunk sister sat in an attempt to woo one of the bar wenches into bed. He crossed his arms, eyes narrowed in a glare while he waited for her to stop pretending not to notice him. “We should find the will.”

She groaned, refusing to even so much as peek in his direction. “Did Mother put you up to this?”

The woman she focused her attention on eyed the tables at her back. “I should get back to my other customers.” Kalea didn’t protest the leave, knowing her brother was there to stay. She watched the swing of the woman’s hips as she sauntered away, a tray in one hand as she piled up empty dishes onto it.

There would be other nights for that one, Kalea considered as she attempted to bite back the bitterness of the missed chance. She swiveled, casting her attention to her brother. She couldn’t resist hassling him. “You really have impeccable timing. This couldn’t wait until after I got her in bed?”

Carver ignored her comment, taking the now empty seat on the opposite side of the table. “It’s important to Mother to see the will. She tried her best to give us what we need, I think she’s due the same.” He plopped a skeleton key between them.  “Mother gave me this to try and stir something.”

She pursed her lips, lending a fake consideration to the idea. “Yes, let’s absolutely fight through some slavers for an insignificant bloody will from twenty years ago.” With a quick shake of her head, she leaned her chin into the palms of her hands, elbows braced on the table. “I’m with Uncle on this. Mother’s got her skirt hiked up because she thought she could return to her easy life here.” She rolled her cheek into her let palm, the other hand sliding down to give her a bored appearance. “This is our lot in life, Carver. Your and Mother’s persistent daydreaming otherwise doesn’t change the facts.” 

The bar wench from earlier caught her eye over Carver’s broad set of shoulders; Kalea gave her a wink and a charming smile. “Get used to it, little bro. I have.” She rose to her feet, the staff across her lap clattering to the floor.

She shouldn’t forget that. Disastrous things would happen if she did, like an inside thunderstorm or fire igniting the room she laid in. People didn’t tend to keep magic like that quiet.

Carver grabbed her arm as she attempted to make a beeline for the object of her attentions. “Kalea. I’m going with or without you. Tonight.”

She gritted her teeth, yanking back her arm to break his hold. “Seriously? It’s like you’re trying to be a buzzkill.” The glint of amusement that entered his eyes confirmed her suspicions. A growl broke her pinched lips apart, her brow furrowing in the increasingly tense glare she shot the younger Hawke. “You’re an ass, you know that?”

“Does that mean you’ll have my back?”

She sighed, glancing once more at the pretty woman in the corner. The wench cocked her head to the side, a question posed in her raised eyebrow. Kalea gave a sad shake to her head before switching her attention back to her brother. “Don’t I always?”

She paid the tab and they left for Darktown, the two of them. She considered adding Varric to the mix, but family business needed to be handled in family. If she changed her mind, the slave highway ended right outside Anders’ clinic. 

Carver led the way, fast steps leading them toward the family vault. She struggled to keep up with his pace, nearly dashing after him using her staff as a walking stick. 

“Are you that excited to become another twit in Hightown? Slow it down, you ass.” She stretched her staff out, poking the pole end into his back. 

He whipped his head, shooting death out of his eyes, but he slowed enough for them to walk side by side. “Hightown is Mother’s dream, not mine. Yours, too, considering the scrutiny the templars put you under.” 

She scoffed, skidding the heel of her boot on the hard ground. “You think I give a rat’s ass about an estate? All I want, all I’ve ever wanted for us, is stability.” She attempted to wrap her arm around his, but he drew back, a scowl on his lips. “Wouldn’t it be nice to stay put somewhere for once, not have to run off at the sight of templars?” She dashed ahead, twirling around with a dreamy smile on her face. “No more going to bed hungry. Can you even imagine what that might feel like? A home?”

Carver gritted his teeth. “Lothering was our home, not this place. We could have stood our ground there.” 

The wonder left Kalea’s expression as a cold shiver took hold of her. She stilled, her gaze narrowed in her brother’s direction. “Stop mincing words, Carver, and just say it. I know you’ve wanted to since we got to this blasted place.” 

He halted his steps, fists clenched at his side. “All these people you supposedly save, but you didn’t stop that ogre from killing Bethany, and you didn’t save Father. You’re no hero, just a lousy drunk in disguise.” 

She knew he felt that way, but to hear the words spoken out loud, admitted so freely by the very kin she loved and sought to protect, it stole the fight out of her, hurt filtering in where her anger resided, sobering her up enough to bite back the prickling of tears in her eyes. What response could she give to such an attack, one that targeted the secret guilt she carried within? 

But her anger surged forward again at the self-righteous look Carver’s face took on, as if smug over the critical hit he landed on an enemy combatant. “Yet this  _ drunk’s  _ shadow is where you hide all your shortcomings. Blame me all you want, brother, but you’re not the powerless oaf you pretend to be. How hard would it have been for you to raise your sword and protect Mother in Bethany’s place? And yet you stood there like a coward, exactly how you did with Father. I tried, okay? I fucking tried and I failed, but at least I did something. What did you do, brother dearest? What do you ever do other than stand there and berate me for the things you were too scared to accomplish for yourself?” 

He didn’t even pause before spitting, “And how exactly did shacking up with that reject prince help Father? Did you even look for a cure or were you too busy having him teach you how to whore yourself out?” 

The mention of Sebastian burned at the back of her throat, the taste of bile on her tongue while anger coursed through her veins. That was low, even for him. Her grip on her staff tightened, her jaw clenching while tears stung her eyes. “Fuck you!” In a moment of genius inspiration, she lit the bladed end of her staff, shooting ice that coated her brother’s feet. She ignored his shout of protest, turning her back on him to march forward. 

As she started to walk the rest of the way to her family’s cellar, he shouted, “Wait! What am I supposed to do if bandits come?”

“You’re smart, you figure it out!” She offered him a half-wave over her shoulder, hitting the stairs down into the dim light of Darktown. 


	5. Family History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"You’ve done a lot for us, and it doesn’t hurt to remember that.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad some of my favorite scenes made it back into the fic. And special thanks to my lovely beta who puts up with my extreme lack of patience.

Neither of her mother nor Carver needed Kalea there after the business with the will, and with the heavy air that spawned from the several disagreements over the last few days, she didn’t wish to stay. She lingered outside the door, debating where to go, her decision not a difficult one to reach.

The crowd at The Hanged Man was a raucous one, despite the late hour. As expected, her uncle nursed his sorrows with a mug in hand, head hung with his shoulders slumped at the bar. After noticing the absence of her favorite bar wench, she sighed, no excuses to use to stop her from the conversation she needed to hold with Gamlen.

She slid onto the empty bar stool beside him, signaling the barkeep for another round. Gamlen didn’t bother even the slightest glance up, no indication Kalea’s presence. Yet he growled, “Leandra send you after me, or did you come to berate me on your own?”

The two of them crossed paths there on occasion, though nothing ever exchanged between them besides a nod. Varric gambled with him when he lacked the right amount of players for Wicked Grace, but Kalea made the dwarf promise to cut her uncle off if he bet too much. Besides living in his home, there lied the extent of their interactions. This one-on-one conversation came new to them both.

Doing a quick check around the bar to make sure no other patrons noticed her actions, she wrenched her uncle’s hand away from where it cradled his forehead and shoved a small purse into it, folding his fingers around it. “Neither,” she responded, letting go to grab a sip of her ale. “I know it’s not much, but it’s a start. Once I come back from the Deep Roads, I’ll make sure you’re well compensated for anything you spent while housing us.”

He stared over at her with incredulous eyes, humility befalling his features. It took a few extra seconds for him to gather himself for a response. “Yeah, well… about time.”

You’re welcome, Uncle,” Kalea chuckled, only teasing at his lack of gratitude.  If her mother got her way, Gamlen wouldn’t receive the slightest sovereign, and the two at the bar knew it. Still, Kalea didn’t feel it necessary to receive actual praise, though her ego might not mind. She kept her creed of family first, even if the situation pitted sibling against sibling. Gamlen was blood, and Kalea took care of her own. Too bad her brother remained too pig-headed to see that.

“If you have any other concerns, it’d be in your best interest to take them up with me personally.” Kalea swiveled her seat out, crossing her legs as her eyes skimmed the crowd. “Mother was always a dreamer, but you and I, we see the situation for what it really is. You’ve done a lot for us, and it doesn’t hurt to remember that.”

She raised her glass toward him, but he ignored her attempt at a toast. “About time someone did,” he mumbled, bringing his mug up for a hearty chug.

She finished off the rest of the mug with her uncle before leaving in search of her favorite dwarf. She hoped Varric wouldn’t be opposed to her crashing with him that night. She couldn’t bring herself to head home and deal with her ass of a brother.

* * *

 

The squawking of seagulls woke her, their angry shrieks outside of the boarded window of Kalea’s temporary home. “Oi, shove off, you lot.” She cast a bit of wind through the blinders, enough to ruffle their feathers and push them away in perturbed flight.

She raised her arms above her head, stretching toward the ceiling of the abandoned warehouse where she spent her nights in the week following her and Carver’s fight. The few times she tried to go to back, another fight would brew, so she stayed away, spending her days and nights running odd jobs without him, gathering coin where she could.

That was how she stumbled upon the warehouse. While the bottom remained heavily guarded against refugees seeking shelter amid the crates, the top floor held no such security, and with the skills a certain rogue taught her years ago in Ferelden, she gained access quite easily.

Even though she slept on crates pushed to the window and an old bedroll, she loved it there, the smell of the salty waters below hitting her nose as a breeze filtered through the boards to tousle her hair. Her own space, for the first time in five years, a place to hide and to rest in peace, away from her brat of a brother and her mother’s ignorant disdain for Gamlen.

She dressed, taking her time to pull on her leathers before heading out to sit on the roof. No one could spot her, and the sun bright and warm on her face left her in a good mood for the rest of the day. She unwrapped a sweetroll leftover from yesterday’s breakfast and uncurled the documents she found in the Amell vault, a gentle breeze rustling the pages in her hand.

It wasn’t total happiness, but she found it damn close.

She read over the papers for a fifth time that week. She didn’t know what to make of them, no names given other than one: Tobrius. Her own research turned up an older mage with that name, but why would the Amells hold onto letters from a mage when they hated such magic? It didn’t make sense, and with no one person addressed in the letters, the mystery ate at her.

Ser Thrask arranged a meeting with this mysterious mage for later that day, benefits of… not befriending exactly, but having such a man in her corner? An templar ally in a city where their scourge ruled with iron reins. How weird a word to describe someone of that Order. It helped to know the man’s daughter was a mage, one of her kind. He reminded her of her own father, willing to protect his own with no thought to the cost.

Kirkwall was strange like that, where enemies become allies and once allies turned back into enemies. Kalea tried not to think of Sebastian in his holy Chantry, attempted not to wonder what he did at that particular second. In her new hurt and betrayal, thoughts of him invaded all too so often.

It nagged at her how they parted on such bitter terms that last time. She didn’t enjoy holding grudges, or having someone hold them against hers. _No, not someone. Specifically him._ And with her and Carver not speaking, her mind shifted to the other problem that plagued her.

_The old Bas would’ve loved it up here._

She rolled the letters back up, shoving them into her pocket. Maybe she should be the better person in this, make a peace offering between them. With his newfound doctrine in life, he had to forgive her, right? That was the Maker’s way, and if the man she knew really changed, he’d be forced to accept her apology. Maybe she could even get one from him, which she deserved after how he acted.

She remained at a loss for how to deal with Carver.

She finished her sweetroll and jumped down into the small hidden alley on the shaded side of the warehouse, using her wind magic to soften the landing. After a quick check to make certain she didn’t lose anything in the jump, she took off toward the Gallows.

Kalea hated very few things in life, priding herself on her acceptance of even those whose intentions she didn’t quite understand. But the Gallows, with its slave statues such a blatant representation for how the Circle treated its mages, and its templar meatheads that stood around and mocked their prisoners, Kalea hated every part of it, a shiver of disgust rolling up her spine and settling in the expression of her face.

_Let’s get this over with and be rid of this place._

A mage matching the description Thrask gave her lingered in the shadows by the weapon stall, catching her eyes and nodding at her careful approach. “I know your face,” he spoke when she neared, moving to position herself at his side with the wall to her back. She kept her guard up, eyes wary of the templars that surrounded the area.

Still, none moved or even glanced in her direction as the conversation brewed between the two mages, perhaps Thrask’s doing as well.

“I am Tobrius,” the man said. “And you are a Hawke.”

Her eyes widened at the implication. A Hawke item in the Amell vault? The Amells, who shunned the very relationship that birthed her? How would her grandparents even get their hands on the letters she realized were intended for her father?

And to be recognized on sight  did she really look so much like her father? Sure, she carried his hair color, but she always thought that the similarity ended there.

“I remember your father. Malcolm was a good man.”

“My father must’ve left quite the impression.” But that was something her father did, command a great presence even in his most downtrodden. He spoke with intelligence, a slow drawl as he chose each word carefully, always seeking to break down his giant ideas into easily digestible pieces for others to understand his true vision. Even as a farmhand, he gained a deep respect from those stationed above him.

That was, until the sickness took him over.

Kalea bit her lip, the sharp pain of her canine drawing her out of her thoughts. Fortunately, the other mage didn’t notice her lapse in attention, continuing on.

“I needn’t tell his child how special he was. As to the letter Ser Thrask spoke of, it pained me to send news of the templar’s death.”

“The templar?” Kalea startled at the word, unexpected in a conversation concerning her father and mages.

He nodded. “He allowed your father to leave Kirkwall. _Rule is not served by caging the best of us._ A wise man.”

Her father never spoke of Kirkwall, and her mother only spoke of her parents since her return to the place of her birth. Kalea kept her face still as realization dawned on her that her father once lived there, among these trapped mages, the images of chains outside his window for him to stare at in the hopes of freedom. She never pictured him as anything other than how she knew him: _free_. But she envisioned him now, the ghost of his youth standing tall with his shoulders squared in the corner of the Gallows, a sullen expression to his face, staff tied to his back. Perhaps leading his own small group of rebellious mages.

Was his stay there better than the conditions these mages suffered?

Kalea glanced to the man at her side. “Not what I would expect from a templar.”

“There was a time when the rules of the Order could be ... interpreted to suit a situation. Unlike these days.”

Relief washed over Kalea at the sound of it. So her father didn’t fall victim to this Circle’s depravity.

Tobrius reached into his robe and pulled out a stack of letters. “Such a friendship. Few like your father remain.”

She took the letters with gratitude, a nod of appreciation in his direction as her hands struggled to fit the bundle into her own pockets. She knew his words to ring true, the absence of her father most felt in moments such as this. Ferelden seemed so distant from her place in the Kirkwall Gallows.

“Even fewer like the templar. Rest well at the Maker’s side, Ser Maurevar Carver.”

He took his leave of her, the weight of the letters in her pocket thick with the longing to see her father again. She almost missed that last word, a name as familiar as her own. “Carver?” But the elder mage was long gone.

* * *

 

Kalea read the letters, then read them again. And again. And again. She stopped after the sixth time because the sky grew dim with evening’s arrival. The knowledge of what to do with the letters never escaped her, but she put off her responsibility by rereading them, searching for a way out.

She didn’t want to share these with her brother, knowing he’d keep them for himself. The familiarity of her father’s script on the parchment tugged at her heart, casting a quiet yearning for those she lost. Some pages stained with her tears as she wiped at her damp cheeks from her rooftop hideaway.

Her father would want her and Carver to stop fighting, especially over losing family. She could hear him in her mind, his words unbidden as they called out to her.

_This should bring you two together, not tear you apart. You need each other now more than ever._

Ever the obedient daughter, Kalea followed his instruction, tucking away the letters and jumping back onto the street to make her way toward Gamlen’s, her pace quickening as she ducked down streets and alleys, climbing the stairs toward Lowtown.

She spotted Carver ahead of her. Not wishing to frighten him, not when she knew how jumpy he sometimes became, she shouted for his attention, slowing her sprint down to a meander.

He turned, an annoyed expression crossing his face. “Mother thought the templars got to you since you haven’t been home in a few days. I told her you were out riding someone’s bed, but she had me check the Circle anyway.”

A flash of guilt burrowed into her stomach. She never considered how her absence might appear. Yet the lack of concern in Carver’s furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips grew her simmering wrath for her sibling. She couldn’t resist a quick jab in his direction. “That would make everything a whole lot easier for you and Mother, wouldn’t it? If I weren’t around anymore.”

That did it. Shame washed him of his smugness, shoulders slumping as he cast his eyes to the ground. But she didn’t come to gloat over this small victory. She pulled out the letters and held them out in the distance. “Here, I got you something.”

Suspicious, he reached for them. “Why?”

“We ended on a tense note last time. Take it as you will.” She waved him off. “If you feel the need to find me after you read them, you know where I’ll be.” She walked towards the bar, but fell into the shadows, observing her brother as he flipped through the letters. She wanted to put this blasted fight behind them, but it took two to forgive.

A strangled noise left his throat, his head shooting up to scan the area, most likely searching for her. He must’ve discovered his namesake. She swept down from the ledge she perched herself on, idling toward him as to not appear overeager.

“Have we met a templar who isn’t a colossal pig?”

Kalea laughed at that, staying her distance. “Then it suits you well indeed, Brother.”

He took a step forward, her mind shouting success while she imagined the bridges between them mending. “Why did you give me these? Where did you find them?”

“Does it matter? I thought you might appreciate knowing the truth behind your name, that Father valued swordsmen as much as mages.” She leaned against a short wall close by, Carver slinking over to join her.

The two looked on, nothing said between them for a time. They watched the nighttime crowd wander the streets, cutpurses and drunks abound for The Hanged Man. When she thought for sure Carver would never speak again, he cleared his throat.

“Thank you, Kal. I feel...  I don’t know. It’s like Mother, taking everything out on us. She was just scared.”

She reached out and squeezed his hand. He wasn’t the only one in fear of what the future held. What if the Deep Roads didn’t prove to be the saving grace that needed it to be? She had her own worries, but unlike her brother and her mother, she refused to take them out on others.

A laugh forced itself from her throat. “That’s the worst apology I’ve ever heard, but knowing you, it could be worse.” She leaned her head onto his shoulder.

He wrapped his arm around her, the two sitting against the wall in the early night. A secret smile graced her lips.

 _One apology down, one more to go._  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It pains me how much of a villain Gamlen is portrayed as and Hawke doesn't exactly take his side. Also, I might need some "Malcolm in the Circle" stories.


	6. Where The Cold Wind Blows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Stop pretending your intentions are pure, Kalea. What do you want?”_

It took a few days for Kalea to formulate her plan of approach. She treated this apology to Sebastian with the intensity and care of a battle strategy, unsure of how he might react to seeing her again, given their last interaction.

For the best outcome, she needed to get him alone to plead her case. He might shoot her, but it was a risk to gamble if she wished to patch things between them. But he stayed locked in the Chantry, away from the rest of Kirkwall and from her, which made discovering his schedule and the best time to to execute her plan that much more difficult.

The Chantry gardens presented themselves as the best possible location for their talk, an openness that allowed her to hide, that lended privacy. If he dragged templars out with him, she didn’t risk the possibility of becoming trapped.

And with the location decided, an idea blossomed around it.

In cloak and shadows, perched on a high window ledge, she gazed down at the priests gathered below for the nightly Chant. Their words filtered up to her position, loud despite the glass between them.

As it ended, she jumped to a lower window further ahead, preparing herself to follow the crowd back to their dormitories from the outside.  She sought the route out the night before, caution when scouting her path forward and back.

Tonight, Sebastian brought up the rear, his slow linger leaving him steps behind the progression. Without warning, his head tilted toward the window she observed from, blue eyes pristine and determined as they scanned the frame. She shrunk back against the stone, holding her breath as though he could spot the very movement of air in her lungs.

She wanted him to know of her presence, but not yet.

One of the others spoke in his direction, and with reluctance, he shifted his attention away, feet moving forward once more. She trailed from window to window as his path led further into the Chantry. The crowd broke away until he reached a small, nondescript room, stepping inside and shutting the door closed behind him.

She drew in a deep breath. _Here goes nothing_.

Without the aid of a staff, her hands coated in a buzzing frost as she called forth her talents. Inside the cell that housed Sebastian, her magic dropped the temperature, slow at first but enough to raise suspicion. When his breath puffed out languid clouds of white, his head swiveled to the window, eyes as cold as the magic she drew upon.

He grabbed the bow that leaned against his dresser; she recognized the woodworking as the same one he used in Ferelden, her chest tightening to see it. With swift motions, he slid on his arm guard, then braced the bow before snatching his quiver and throwing it over his back, near sprinting out the door.

She followed the same route she used to get there, climbing up to windows while maintaining the magical hum under her skin. As he dashed forward, the only soul active in the Chantry, she frosted over small objects inside, knobs to doors she wanted him to enter, statues of Andraste to urge him to continue down his route.

With her plan in motion, she didn’t have time to fear the irate expression beset on his face, the determination that shone through his movements, those of a hunter.

His only hesitation drew when she frosted the windows over any that peeked into the Gardens. She watched the confliction cross his face, hand hovering above the handle.

But she did her part. She moved away from the windows, back into the shadows of her high ledge to await his arrival.

He didn’t pause for long, arrow armed in the bow when the doors opened. He waited for the doors to close behind him before calling out, “Show yourself.”

She jumped down from her spot, cloak fluttering around her as she landed softly on her feet with a little help from her wind magic. The arrow released in her direction; she raised her hand, creating an ice shield in front of her that his arrow snapped against inches from her face. One more second, and she would’ve had a new hole in her head.

He strung another arrow, keeping it pointed in her direction. She waved her hand, the string coating with ice. “Chill. I’m only here to talk.”

“You and I are well past that point, lass.”  He plucked at the string, the ice breaking off to shatter at his feet. “I told you not to return.”

“Good thing I’ve never been great at following directions.” She grinned, closing her palms to dispel the frost at her fingers. “I mean it, I’m only here to have a quick chat and apologize.”

She eyed the slight quirk of his eyebrow at that word. Still, his bow remained trained on her. “Forgive me if I don’t completely trust your intentions. What do you gain from this?”

“I don’t like how we ended things last time. Can’t that be reason enough?”

“No.”

This had been one possible outcome she considered when planning her apology. With slow, deliberate movements, one hand raised to not alarm him, she called out, “I even brought a peace offering.”

She drew out the locket from her cloak, the House of Vael sigil carved into the front in gold. She meant to return it to him sooner, but considering how long it took her to figure out that the necklace belonged to his family and where the two stood after she discovered that fact, the right moment never popped up. Now, the locket hung from its chain in between the two, dangling from the fist she made.

His eyes widened with recognition of it. “Where did you get that? Did you steal it?”

She pretended to huff. “Why does everyone always think I steal everything? I’ll have you know that I looted it from one of the Flint company’s pockets.” A smile bloomed on her lips as she tossed it in his direction.

He lowered his weapon to catch it in mid-air, studying the locket as it laid in his palm. Once his curiosity satisfied with its authenticity, instead of the chip in his defenses that would allow her to plant her apology and blossom into his forgiveness, he scowled up at her, teeth grinding to match his harrowed glare.

Her smile faltered at this new display of emotion. “I thought you’d be happy to have it back. It belongs to your family, doesn’t it?”

He shoved it into his pocket and redrew his bow with the arrow at ready. “Stop pretending your intentions are pure, Kalea. What do you want?”

This was not covered under possible scenarios.

She didn’t know how to react to his continued hostility. He was supposed to accept the locket and they would make up and she’d go back to her hideaway on the docks with one less person mad at her.

The confusion showed on her face. “I don’t understand what I did wrong. I found out it was yours, and I brought it to you. What more do you want for an apology?”

“My forgiveness is not a thing to be bought.” He shot a warning arrow at her feet.

“Oi!” She jumped back, perturbed by his insinuation. “Maker, the Chantry really did make you daft. If I was trying to manipulate you, don’t you think I’d do a better job at it than a bloody locket? Maybe flash a little skin here and there to get you to agree?”

He fought back a smile, she noticed. The sight of it lit the smallest of hope inside her. She continued on, attempting to coax a full smile out of him. “Look, I found it, I thought I could sell it. No one wanted to buy it, and then one of the merchants said it belonged to the _House of Vael_ , she put it. I stopped trying after that, but we weren’t speaking, so what was I supposed to do? Drop it on the Chantry doorstep and hope you get it?” Her expression soured. “Your fellow members here aren’t exactly the most trustworthy.”

She shouldn’t have referred to Petrice, the ease Kalea fought so hard to bring forth in him falling back under careful guard. “Aye, of course you attempted to pawn it off.”

Her nostrils flared with her temper, ice crackling under her feet while her hands clenched at her sides. “I am trying to be the better person here, but your self-righteous attitude is getting real fucking old, Sebastian,” she spoke through gritted teeth.

She watched him tense, his draw on the bow string tightening. “For all your words, I’ve yet to hear an actual apology.”

She threw her hands in the air, exasperated at the situation. “I’m sorry, okay?” She paused to regather herself, unwind the anger that coiled in her stomach. In a slow exhale, she established her calm enough to try again. “I'm sorry.”

He lended a curt nod, eyes void of any of the warmth she remembered of him. “Now you may leave with your conscience in tact.”

Her anger renewed at his chilled attitude, but she bit it back. She only needed to make it through this a little longer. “You don't accept?”

“You've said your piece, now take your leave of this place.”

“Doesn't the Maker preach forgiveness?” She hated to use this card, but the man refused to relent. He fisted his hands at his side but she noted with a bit of self-satisfaction that it lessened the hatred she felt emanating towards her. “Why are you so adamant to hold this against me? I apologized! To something we were both guilty of!”

“Why is this so important to you?”

“Because you were important to me!” Her words echoed around the walled-in garden, reverberating through her as she shook in place, a bush nearby flash-freezing in her outburst. The confession came as a surprise to them both, coupled with the force behind it.

The bow in his hands lowered, his arrow pointed to the ground instead of trained on her. “Whatever notion you have in your head about an _us_ , you need to let it go. We aren’t the same people we were.”

“I don’t want this to be who we are now. Not after everything we’ve been through together.” Her chest ached as she peered at his face, half-hidden in the night, his expression unreadable. She took one uneasy step toward him, the ice following with her steps. “If we end on opposing sides again, I don’t want to be forced to kill you.”

A smug grin broke the solemness of his face. “Still cocky after all this time, to think that I would be bested by you.”

Some of the tension built into her shoulders eased out as her own smile formed. “It’s called confidence in one’s abilities.” With hesitation, she took another step toward him, now within reaching distance of each other. “Can we be okay? I need us to be okay, for something to go right in this cursed city.”

She didn’t miss the small flicker of his eyes to her lips, his tongue darting out to wet his own. Her mouth grew dry at the insinuation. Her body responded on its own, stepping forward into his personal space, magical energy thrumming under her skin.

“Kalea,” he warned, a growl to his throat, but she didn’t miss the need that wavered his pitch. He didn’t back away, and she pressed her luck one more time, inching closer, his breath flushing across her cheeks.

She closed the gap between their lips, rising to the tips of her toes as their mouths connected, a full body shudder rolling over her. He froze under the gentle caress before fisting his hand through the long strands of her hair, holding her mouth to his while their lips parted, tongues dancing with one another as soft moans broke through the kiss.

Just as sudden as it began, Sebastian shoved her off, shame on his face while his cheeks reddened from the intensity shared between them. “I can't do this with you. I need to go pray, a lot.”

Her chest rose and fell, her lungs desperate to regain the air he stole from her. A wicked smile bloomed on her face as she released her hold on his robes. “On your knees always was my favorite position.”

His face mottled a violent shade of red. “Leave, Kalea.”

She moved backwards, her wind assisting in her jump to the garden wall. “Goodnight, Bas,” she waved, the smile still stretched on her face. She hopped onto the roof, only the moon to light her path back to the sea.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN FOR ANOTHER SIX CHAPTERS. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.


	7. Fools Rush In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Hawke has a friend in the Chantry that I don’t think she’s too happy to see again.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my terrific beta. 
> 
> This chapter's a bit heavy on the canon. I hope this doesn't read boring because of that.

Kalea’s fingers traced her lips in the dark of the warehouse, the sharp memory of the kiss snatching her away from the present and tossing her back to that intense moment between her and Sebastian. She hadn’t meant to kiss him, even more surprised when he returned it with such gusto. Unable to shake the tingling in her lips, she flipped over, desperate for sleep to claim her for the night.

So this is who she became, doing Maker knew what with exiled princes turned Chantry brothers. She didn’t like it, the stir of emotions he brought forth in her, the unnerving way that the simple sight of him got under her skin. _Fuck_ , she shouldn’t have kissed him. Worse, she shouldn’t want more, want to hover in that moment, to feel the crush of his lips to hers, near swooning from the hunger he stirred in her.  

She and Carver were leaving for the Deep Roads soon. Perhaps time away from the city would assist in clearing her mind, drag out whatever piece of her held so tightly onto him and squash that desire back down into the void it originated.

When she gave up on the idea of sleep for the night, her feet found themselves traveling the well-worn path between her hideaway and The Hanged Man. She had other ways of handling desires, a drink and maybe a quick lay to get the tantalizing taste of Sebastian out of her mouth. Without prompting, her mind drew upon an image of him knelt before an altar, eyes closed and head bowed while he prayed for the Maker to forgive him. Or perhaps his hands anchored themselves lower to the thought of her, especially if his vow of chastity were a true one.

She burst through the doors to the tavern, slightly out of breath at the pornographic images that flashed through her thoughts. She needed a drink, fast, something to dull the drift back to him.

A flash of movement caught her eye, a voluptuous pirate in white slamming the head of a local merc gang on the counter. Kalea whipped out her staff, ready to come to the pirate’s aid, one of the men snatching her arms to pin her back, but the resourceful woman thrust her head behind her, eliciting a satisfying crunch to the man’s nose as she slipped from his now loosened grasp, ducking just as one of the others flung a bottle in her direction. The bottle shattered on the crown of the man with the broken nose, sending him to the floor.

Kalea paused, leaning on her staff, watching with amusement as this mystery woman send these mercs to the floor. The pirate’s movements spoke of roguish elements, her experience with brawls such as these plenty, the way her body danced with expertise around her attackers. Kalea admired skill when she recognized it, and this woman had plenty.

She drew a blade to the necks of one of the mercs, her voice low while she spoke to him. Kalea didn’t attempt to eavesdrop, instead scanning the men behind on the floor for any type of sudden attack she could belay. But they scrambled to their feet and toward the door, the pirate’s opponent with them as she repositioned herself against the bar, knocking back the rest of her drink.

Kalea smirked as she made her approach, adding a slight swing to her hips, eyes appraising the woman's thick frame. “Nice moves.”

“You should see me in bed,” the pirate said, her face aglow from the exertion the battle caused, cheeks flushed with adrenaline underneath her heavy blush. “Enjoy the show?”

“A stunning woman like yourself, taking down a bunch of beefed-up mercs?” Kalea perched herself on the stool next to the pirate, crossing her legs with her elbows settled on the bar. “I could watch that all night.”

“Perhaps you can,” the pirate winked, draining the rest of her bottle into her cup before sliding away from the bar, taking a slight bow. “Isabela. Previously Captain Isabela. Sadly, without my ship, the title rings a bit hollow.”

Kalea inclined her head toward the pirate’s direction. “Hawke. No title, but I’m sure some of the locals have some colorful expletives to throw around.”

Isabela tossed her head back and laughed, a few fingers caressing down her neckline to draw Kalea’s attention toward her cleavage. Kalea appreciated the forwardness of the woman, a welcome distraction from her current troubles, a drastic change from the man who vexed her from his position on his self-appointed pedestal.

“You’re Fereldan, aren’t you?”

“That obvious?” Kalea ordered herself a round, something to quench the thirst building at the sight of Isabela’s scantily clad body.

“You have that look about you.” She grinned, her eyes assessing Kalea’s current state. “You know… you might be just what I’m looking for to solve a little problem I have.”

The ease Kalea settled into rectified as she lended the pirate on her left a new appreciation. A job was a job, but disappointment left a bitter aftertaste on her tongue at the thought that this woman, too, wanted to use Kalea to suit her own purposes. Everyone wished for their pound of flesh, felt it owed to them for whatever reason. Perhaps she came off with too friendly a face, or maybe a readable desperation filled her eyes at the mention of coin.

Whatever the cause, this woman wanted her pound. Though no rules devolved occasionally mixing business with pleasure. The distraction might help take her minds off of purity, off of men drenched with cleanliness and fire. Kalea braced herself back on her elbows, careful in her intent of playing this game.  “After the way you took down those mercs, you need my help?” Kalea forced a grin. “I’m both flattered and confused. You’re a capable woman. Why need me?”

The pirate’s eyes narrowed, brandishing a harsh glare. “Someone from my past has been pestering me.”

Kalea bit back her laughter. She knew something about how annoying that made life.

“I’ve arranged for a duel. If I win, he leaves me alone.”

Kalea interjected. “But.”

A coy smile caught the edge of Isabela’s painted lips. “But I don’t trust him to play fair. I need someone to watch my back.”

Kalea wanted to do more than just _watch_ her back, her hands itching to touch the soft curves under Isabela’s tight, half-untied shirt. “And what’s in it for me? Assuming I agree.”

Isabela winked with a soft shake of her hips, scooping her cup off the bar and tilting it to her lips. Kalea observed the subtle movements of the muscles in her neck, the glint in the pirate’s dark eyes when she caught Kalea’s starving gaze. The cup returned to its place, Isabela’s hip cocked to the side as one of her hands skimmed the hump of her curves. “I’m sure I can think of something.”

It’d been a long time since anyone attempted to seduce Kalea, given her preference for taking charge. But she found herself enjoying the pirate’s attentions, not caring who led this time as long as something occurred.

“Then I think I can manage something along those lines.”

* * *

 

The sun rose and fell before the two laid eyes upon one another again. Kalea aired caution when dealing with beautiful women who asked to meet her alone in the main square at dark. Varric trailed after Kalea’s long strides into Hightown, Fenris and Anders squabbling further behind, the carry of their voices removing any element of surprise. Kalea got along with most of her rag-tag team of lovable misfits, but she sometimes forgot that the sentiment didn’t share with each other.

The two bickered worse than her and Carver.

Isabela paced in the middle of the square, brows furrowed, eyes flicking up to Kalea’s. “I’ve been here for hours.” Her eyes passed over the men approaching in the background. “Yours, I take it?”

Kalea sighed, tossing a quick look over her shoulder at the squabbling pair and the eager dwarf. “Unfortunately.” She scanned the area in a quick assessment. “It takes two to duel. Unless you meant to come after me…?”

The pirate scowled, feigning hurt at the idea. “Hayder hasn’t shown up. I don’t like this.” She paused in her movements in front of Kalea. Shadows stirred from the direction of The Blooming Rose, a gang of raiders grinning with ill intent as they jogged forward.

The blonde with the pock-marked face sneered, drawing out her axe. “There’s the wench we’re looking for,” she said, pointing her blade in Isabela’s direction. “Get her!”

Kalea drew her staff in one fluid motion, charging at the first of the five. Behind her, Anders cast haste, the sweet tingling sensation that accompanied the speed boost fizzling along the hair of her arms. She spun her blade, slamming it into the neck of armored warrior that barrelled toward her. It thrust in with a thick-sounding _fwpt_ , blood careening down from the wound to stain the front of the leather armor.

Isabela glowed the dull blue of the haste spell, fighting off the leader of the pack, while Anders and Varric provided support from the back, casting flames and arrows toward their archer. Fenris rushed, his warhammer knocking away a flimsy shield held by one of the thugs before slamming down into their kneecap. The person screamed, collapsing to the ground while using their sword to help keep them right. The elf didn’t hesitate to finish them off, Kalea tearing her eyes away at the last bloody second to lob a fireball at a rogue creeping on Isabela’s back. The man screamed, dropping to his knees, his expression that of surprise.

Kalea slipped a dagger out of her pouch and threw it, the blade hitting its mark through one of his eyes. The body slumped back onto its heels, lifeless, jaw slack and hanging open.

Isabela paid the destruction behind her no mind, sliding one of her blades into the leader’s chest. The woman fell into Isabela’s arms before the pirate wrenched her blade out and pushed the dead woman back.

Kalea waited, searching the pirate’s stoic expression for their next move. This was Isabela’s mission, after all; she was just along for the ride.

Isabela stalked forward, ducking down to pat the dead leader’s armor. “Search the bodies. I know Hayder sent them, and I need to find out where he is.”

Kalea’s stare lingered a second longer before she raised her hand, signaling for her group to follow Isabela’s lead. She took the opposite side of the same corpse whose pockets the pirate rifled through, her eyes flickering from the body to Isabela’s furrowed brows. When the other woman didn’t bring it up, Kalea cleared her throat. “So, the magic bit… you don’t have a problem with it?”

“Am I going to turn you and your friend into the templars after you’ve helped me?” Isabela groaned in frustration at her absent find before bringing her golden gaze up to answer Kalea’s question. “Please, kitten, you insult me.”

Kalea opened her mouth for a reply, perhaps an apology or an explanation for her doubt to defend on her behalf, but Anders cried out, “Found something!” He waved a piece of paper in the air with eagerness, righting himself up to make his way over.

Isabela snatched the paper away, lips twisting into a hardened scowl while she read over the words. “Hiding in the Chantry and sending thugs to finish me off? Coward.”

Kalea flinched at the sound of the location, only Varric taking notice of her reaction. She glared in his direction, but he only quirked his eyebrow. Isabela caught the ass end of their nonverbal exchange. “Am I missing something?”

Kalea softened her gaze enough to move forward toward the Chantry courtyard. “It’s nothing.”

She heard Varric mumble to the pirate, “Hawke has a friend in the Chantry that I don’t think she’s too happy to see again.”

“Ah,” came Isabela’s knowing reply, as if that explained everything between them.

“He might not even be there,” Kalea shot back, her temper flaring as her fists clenched at her sides. “He’s probably tucked safely away in his bunk.” Definitely not laying up and reliving their kiss the way she did when she stumbled into this mess.  

* * *

 

Sometime during the scuffle in the courtyard, her fingers dipped into the war paint she kept at her side, drawing her now signature trademark across her face. As the group ran up to the doors of the Chantry, their foes easily taken down, bodies strewn about behind them, Kalea wondered if she protected against the battle or the man inside, no doubt awoken by the noise she and her friends created.

Isabela threw open the door, leaving Kalea no time to hesitate before stepping inside. Which version of Sebastian would she meet there? Friend? Or enemy once more, despite her wavering attempt to heal their fractured relationship? Her eyes sought him on the upper floor; when she cast her gaze downward, a pale man with a cocky strut made his way over to the group. Kalea picked out several of the man’s associates hidden behind the support beams, a foot or armor spike peeking out.

Isabela tensed beside her, leaving no more doubt in Kalea’s mind of the man’s identity.

“Isabela. Should’ve known you’d find me here.” Hayder glowered at the group, one Isabela no doubt matched as she stepped forward.

“Tell your men to burn the letters next time.” Isabela positioned herself between Kalea and Hayder, ready at a moment’s notice to take down the man in front of her.

“Castillion was heartbroken when he heard about the shipwreck.” More Raiders filed out, taking an aggressive stance behind their leader; Kalea took mental notes on which appeared strongest, determined to aim for them first once Anders cast his haste spell. “You should’ve let him know you survived.”

Isabela shrugged as a response. “It must’ve slipped my mind.”

And there, up on the balconies, a flash of movement. Kalea’s heart thudded in her chest, the shadowed person no doubt an archer. _Sebastian_?

Hayder laughed, dividing Kalea’s attention between the floors. “Where’s the relic?”

“I lost it. Castillion’s just going to have to do without.”

There. Another flash. Kalea caught the sight of white armor as whoever moved above them ducked behind one of the walls.

“Lost it? Just like you lost the ship full of valuable cargo?” Hayder’s wrath built on his words, the energy charging in the air as his people shifted behind him, readying for the fight ahead.

Isabela stepped forward, drawing Kalea’s attention back to the conversation. “They weren’t cargo, Hayder, they were people!”

Oh _shit_ . _Slavers_ . Fenris’ lyrium-drawn skin flared at the realization; Kalea stepped back two paces and touched his forearm, giving a quick shake of her head. _Not yet_ , she pleaded through her gaze. _Soon, but not yet._

If anyone noticed Fenris’ reaction, they gave no indication. Hayder continued with the argument building in the forefront. “Those slaves were worth a hundred sovereigns a head. And you let them scurry off into the Wilds. And now the relic’s gone, too. Castillion won’t be happy to hear that, I promise you.”

Isabela glanced back at Kalea, who slid her hand off of Fenris. “There’s only one way to settle this.” Kalea watched the pirate slip her dagger from its holster and shoot it in one of the Raider’s direction. It struck the woman at Hayder’s side square in the chest, the force of the blow knocking the now-dead woman onto her back.

An arrow shot off from the balcony as Hayder drew his weapon, his men pouring out from their hiding places. The arrow struck through the slits of one of the their helmets, the body crumpling through the ground.

Kalea almost wished for their mystery archer to be another bad guy.

As before, Anders and Varric provided support while Kalea rushed into the thick of battle alongside Fenris and Isabela. They made short work of all those opposing them, Hayder taken down with one of Isabela’s blades slit across his throat.

With Hayder dead, Kalea whirled to face the stairs, gaze clashing with the seething anger of Sebastian’s ocean-colored eyes, his bow still raised with an arrow armed inside.

“Nice armor,” she chuckled, a failed attempt to alleviate some of the rising tensions.

His expression didn’t change. “Look at the destruction you wrought in the house of the Maker.”

Kalea’s face soured as she stored her staff. “I didn’t force them to hide here.”

“Your side attacked first.”

She tsked, a, incredulous shake of her head. “Bas, always coming in with only half the facts. You’d rather we let these slavers go free? Is that what the Maker would want?”

His nostrils flared as his temper raged inside him. “You should have taken the battle outside.”

“And yet you helped us inside.”

“Only to get you out quicker.” He lowered his bow, but didn’t disarm. “You need to leave. I’ll take care of the bodies, but I mean it this time, Kalea. Don’t come back here again.”

She felt the sharp burning of her own ire, her fists clenched at her sides while she stepped forward. “When are you going to stop blaming everything that goes wrong in this city on me? I am doing my fucking _best_ , Bas. What more do you want from me?”

The two glared at each other for several minutes before a soft touch skirted her forearm. “Leave the brother to his cleaning duties,” Isabela tugged on her arm, leading toward the exit. “It’s not worth getting your smalls in a twist over this.”

Kalea tore her eyes away from his to rest on Isabela’s warm golden gaze. “Fine.” She rolled her shoulder, shrugging off the other woman’s touch. “Let’s go. I wouldn’t want His Royal Jackass to wait for our absence any longer than he has to.” Kalea shot one more look over her shoulder, sneering.

Outside, the blessed chilled night air calmed some of the flames of her rage. Isabela swung around, stopping at the crest of the stairs. “What in the Maker’s name was that about?”

“Those two are always like that,” Varric cut in.

Isabela glanced back at the doors, then to Kalea. “You and he? Is something going on between the two of you?”

Kalea gave a quick shake of her head. “Not that it’s anyone’s business, but no.” She stressed the _anyone_ in Varric’s direction, noting his keen interest in the matter. “He’s just another self righteous Chantry prick who thinks he can do no wrong.”

“Ah,” came Isabela’s reply, though the pirate didn’t sound entirely convinced. “Anyway, thanks for helping me out with Hayder. I think I’ll tag along for awhile.”

Another misfit for Kalea’s growing gang. Just fucking perfect. Kalea started down the stairs. “Yeah, sure. Why not.”

“And kitten?” Isabela stayed rooted to the top of the steps. “If you’re done trying to lead Chantry brothers astray, I have a room at the Hanged Man. You know, if you need company.”

Kalea ignored the additive as she marched forward with her group. But long after they disbanded, Kalea slunk back to the bar, Isabela’s knowing grin awaiting her with a fresh mug of ale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome Isabela to the family. 
> 
> Also, damnit Sebastian and Kalea. Why can you two never get along?


	8. Selfish/Selfless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I didn’t come here to make trouble.”_   
>  _“According to you, you never do.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter of Act One! And what a way to leave off! 
> 
> Also, [dismalzelenka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dismalzelenka/pseuds/dismalzelenka) and I came up with a new word. Aveplaste: (n) small private altar rooms located around a church/chantry. 
> 
> Also, ATTENTION. The tags have been added. This chapter gets kind of rough, so please read them! I don't want anyone triggered by this.

_Tomorrow_.

After her body’s refusal to sleep, Kalea slipped out to the roof, careful not to rouse the slumbering Isabela whose soft snores intermingled with the break of ocean waves below. Kalea needed the sleep, the maximum amount of energy for her descent into the Deep Roads that came with the morning light. Her mind ignored this need, worry gnawing at her every time she closed her eyes.

Wind nipped at her bare arms, forcing her back inside to grab her cloak. Maybe she would wander around a bit, hopefully tire herself out. Drink in the unfiltered, above ground air while she could, bask in the moonlight until the ground swallowed her and her friends.

She wondered if Carver slept, his last chance at a real bed for awhile. Did Varric take his usual throne in the tavern, drinking and dealing one last hand of Wicked Grace? Anders, was the clinic open for him to heal who he could before he ventured with them?

Would she miss Kirkwall?

Would it miss her?

In her aimless wanderings of the city, she found herself standing outside the Chantry doors. She didn’t worship the Maker in such a visible form such as this, but she knew that sometimes people lit candles and prayed in front of small altars until their worries abated. Did the Maker care enough about her plight to offer the same comfort?

She snuck in, clinging to the shadows, making her way to one such private room. Despite having fought in the sanctuary a mere fortnight prior, the guard remained lax, very little cause for alarm as she slipped into one of the empty aveplastes on the upper floor, shutting the door behind her. Sebastian must’ve kept his word, cleaning up after the skirmish to not raise suspicions.

Would _he_ miss her? Would he even note her absence?

Her fingers snapped with fire, illuminating the otherwise black room. Several half-melted red candles surrounded a statue of Andraste; with one quick flick of her wrist, flame shot out to light the wick of each one. A small hum of approval left her throat as she admired her handiwork while kneeling down on the soft cushion in front of the altar, shifting a few times to make herself comfortable, leaning against the banister with her hands clasped together.

It felt foreign, this kind of worship or praise. Mother didn’t believe in the Maker, but her father passed down his beliefs, though any form of worship was held in the privacy of their home. Chantries were places of danger, this one no great exception. Still, she ignored the warning in her gut, bowing her head and closing her eyes as one of the few lines of prayer she knew left her lips.

“These truths the Maker has revealed to me: As there is but one world, one life, one death, there is but one god, and He is our Maker. They are sinners, who have given their love to false gods.”

“You do know the next lines condemn magic, aye?” The familiar brogue startled her in the small of the room. She flinched, but didn’t turn around, rooted in her position on the floor. His entry was a silent one, much like her own approach to this room. How did he spot her?

“I did not.”

He took a knee beside her on the cushion, position mirroring her own, including the bent head. Her eyes flickered over to him, the flames in front of her suddenly hot against the cloth that touched her skin.

“Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him. Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift and turned it against His children. They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones. They shall find no rest in this world or beyond.”

“I could’ve done without the reminder, thanks.” She shifted, pushing her chest into the banister. “I didn’t come here to make trouble.”

“According to you, you never do.”

A smile bloomed on her lips despite her best effort to fight it off. “Well, it’s true.” She closed her eyes, attempting to fall back into her prayer, but with him sitting so close, her concentration fled. “And you, Bas? You keep telling me not to return. Are you here to cause trouble?”

“I’m here to stop you if you change your mind, although…” he paused, the sound of rustling  fabric and clinking metal breaking the stillness as he shifted his position to mirror her own. “I’m surprised to find you praying.”

“Even us heathens have gods.” She gave up the pretense of praying, falling back onto her heels to watch him fluster over her words.

“That’s not what I implied. I didn’t think your kind worshipped the Maker is all.”

She rolled her eyes at the _your kind_ , a scowl replacing the smile on her face. “I’m going to let that comment slide. You’re lucky I have bigger issues to deal with than another fight with you.”

He hesitated before asking the prying question of “What’s wrong?” He settled back onto his heels, eyes cast down to her knees on the cushion.

A frustrated sigh passed from her lips, carrying with it any hope she held for resuming her prayers. “Good news for you and the lot of Kirkwall, I’m heading into the Deep Roads tomorrow. So no more of these late night visits. I know you’ll miss them so.”

“Ah.”

Her mind debated telling him more, confessing her fears and doubts about the venture. She could use some reassurance outside of her own head, the kind of worry a drink or five couldn’t drown. “You’re a priest now, right? So everything I say in here remains confidential?”

Confusion flickered across his features much like the candlelight, but he nodded. “Aye, though I would keep your confidence all the same.”

“I can never tell with us. One minute, you’re shooting arrows at me; the next, you’re praying beside me.” Her fingers combed through her hair, her hand coming to rest on her neck as she stared into the firelight, searching for a place to begin, considering what might become “too much” for him to know.

“I’m scared.” Her hands drew to her lap, twisting themselves while she searched for her next words. Scared didn’t begin to cover even half of the terror she felt, but he didn’t need to know that. “We’ve been working all year to gain the capital for the Deep Roads, but what if there’s nothing down there? Is bringing Carver with me the right choice? And what about Mother up here on the surface? Will she be okay without us both?” Kalea tucked a few loose pieces of hair behind her ear.

“So many things can go wrong down there that not finding anything is the least of our troubles. We’ve always been poor, so it’s no big deal, but that goal of working toward something will slip away from my family. It’ll crush my mother, and who knows how Carver will react.”

“And yourself?” Sebastian’s words cut through her rant. “How do you feel about all this? What is it you want?”

Her chest thudded as an awful realization struck her. _I don’t plan on coming back._ Why did she think that? Why did that thought exist in her head? Water rimmed her eyelashes as further intrusive thoughts pooled in with that first.

_I’m so tired. Everything I do is for my family, including the Deep Roads. I don’t care what happens to me. As long as Carver stays safe, I don’t care. There isn’t a life here for me, not with templars at my heels. If it’s a choice between imprisonment or death, I’ll choose death every time._

“Kalea?” Sebastian reached over and pried one of her damp hands away from the other, tears staining her skin as they cut rivers into her cheeks. His firelit eyes searched hers, seeking the answer to his posed question. He must’ve found it, because his expression hardened as he wiped her cheeks with the palm of his hand. “Whatever you’re planning, don’t go through with it.”

“Bas... I-”

The hard press of his mouth to hers broke her sentence, needy lips that swallowed her cries, his hands cupping both sides of her face to hold her to him. Her body responded in kind, mimicking his hold on her, her rear rising off her heels to press her chest into his armor piece. Each kiss seared her lips, kindling the dormant flame inside her that ached for this exact moment. One of her hands slid into his auburn locks, tightening her hold on him while her lungs burned for air.

One kiss multiplied into many more, each one more ravenous than the last, as though one taste wouldn’t sate their thirst for one another. His hands dropped from her face, reaching around to cup her rear and bring it forward, rocking into his own. They captured the light moans from each other’s mouths before his lips trailed down her throat, biting and sucking the sensitive skin while his hands kneaded her behind.

 _Fuck_ , she wanted this. She practically dripped for him between her legs, so eager for him to slide into her and ride her in the privacy of the aveplaste. But this felt too much like sacrilege, given the location and the statue of Andraste watching them.

And she didn’t want to leave on this note, not with the greedy sex she desired but leaving him alone to his guilt over breaking his vows. She couldn’t do that to him, or herself.

She brought his face up for one more passionate kiss before shoving him away, scooting as far back as the room allowed. “I didn’t come here for this, I swear.” Her chest heaved, her body yearning for his touch, her lips missing the familiar press of his own.

His brow furrowed while he stared at her, his own lungs rectifying his misplaced air. His fists fell into his lap, his eyes flickering between them and her face. “I know. Shit, I know-it’s just…” He ran one of his hands through his hair. “Maker, seeing you again, I can’t…”

She jumped to her feet. “I should-I should probably leave. I have a big day tomorrow and-”

He rose to his feet, hands reaching out to grab her arm. “Come back.”

Her eyes flickered to Andraste behind him, the idol lit up with the flames of her magic. “Bloody Void, Bas; I can’t be with you when you’ve given yourself to the Maker.”

“Not that,” he hissed, tugging on her arm. “Come back to Kirkwall. Whatever idiotic plan you have formed in your head, whatever you were thinking about a few moments ago, make sure you come back.”

“Oh.” She attempted to keep her face emotionless, but he saw through it, dragging her into an embrace.

He buried his face in her hair, so familiar his touch that she fell right back into their old stance, her arms knowing right where to best hold him, though this time his armor made it more difficult. “Promise me you’ll try your hardest to come back.”

“Sebastian ...”

“Promise me.” His voice showed no relenting to his request, and she knew how stubborn he could be, how they both were.

But cheap promises didn’t change how she felt. For him, she tightened her hold and she gritted her teeth and she pretended to give in. Maker forgive her, but she lied, promising him something she held no intention for delivering.

“I promise.”

She expected him to see through it again, to shine his light onto her falsehoods. Instead, he kissed her forehead and let go, a smile on his face. “Thank you, Pidge.”

If it made him feel better, so be it. She placed one more desperate kiss onto his lips, something to remember her by. Her cloak fluttered behind her as she swept out of the room, back down the hallway toward the exit. He didn’t follow, her lie concealed.

Tomorrow, the Deep Roads. Sebastian could pray for her safety if he wished, but her decision was made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, Act One is done! Tell me your thoughts! Give me your guesses for the future! 
> 
> Notes on this chapter: I was as surprised by Kalea's intrusive thoughts as much as you all. But this is also the first time that someone has asked what she wants. No one ever gave her that opportunity before. She never got the chance to think about it. 
> 
> And that kiss? Also unexpected. But the woman he cares about just admitted she planned to die, and Sebastian's vows are new, soooo....


	9. Destructive Tendencies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I think it’s time we find you a suitable husband.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! I'm happy to be here again. I appreciate the asks and general camaraderie I've received on this fic, part of my Magnum Opus series. More on that at the end of the chapter comments. For now, just know that I'm working on this again. 
> 
> For now, I'd like to thank [Bardofheartdive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bardofheartdive) for betaing. 
> 
> And I have been busy writing for this series, I swear. If you're curious about Sebastian during the events of Act One and slightly after, check out [Sebastian's Song](http://joufancyhuh.tumblr.com/post/173441228882/sebastians-song) .
> 
> Also, forgive me. I wasn't able to find Sebastian's letter from the beginning of Act Two.
> 
> Also different Act, different cover.

 

**Act Two/Three Years Later**

Isabela fell back into the nest of pillows, breathless, her chest flushed as Kalea’s mouth trailed along the soft skin of her stomach. “Maker,” she purred, running a hand through her ravaged bedhead. “Where did you learn something like that?”

Kalea nipped at the tender flesh, a breathy huff sounding above her while one of Isabela’s hands threaded through her thick hair, nails scraping along her scalp. “From a priest, if you can believe it.”

Isabela laughed, her body jiggling from the force of it as it rolled through her. Kalea grinned, shifting upwards to fall beside the glowing woman, her hand trailing along the pirate’s outline. She adored Isabela’s laughter, the soft rippling it made across her skin, the smile that accompanied the sound. “Oh, I can believe it. You have a certain knack for leading others astray.” Isabela inclined her head toward the door. “Speaking of, I haven’t seen our _friend_ in awhile.”

“He’s keeping himself busy.” Kalea smirked at that, rolling on top of Isabela to scatter kisses along her jawline. The frequent third member to their trysts, Anders, began to shy away from Isabela’s visits as of late. Kalea meant to ask him if something occured between the two of them that drove him off, but she often forgot the question once he started stripping. “He said he’d stop by later though.”

“You do love your bedwarmers,” the pirate teased, her sentence broken up with a soft moan as the mage’s lips skirted a tender spot. Nothing in Isabela’s reply hinted at trouble between them, and Kalea made a mental note to ask him that night.

“I’ve never been one for the cold.” The corner of Kalea’s lips pulled in a smirk as she bent her head to capture Isabela’s plush bottom lip between her teeth. The larger woman rolled into the kiss, ringed fingers sliding through Kalea’s hair to hold her in position. Isabela’s other hand caressed down to the mage’s hardened nipples, pinching one in a gentle twist which earned a deep-throated rumble.

Isabela broke the kiss to nip down the curve of Kalea’s throat. “Perhaps I can leave some marks for Anders to find later, let him know what he missed out on.”

The mage allowed a few more seconds of the firm exploration of Isabela’s teeth against her neck before righting herself up onto her knees. “Maybe after I grab us something to eat. You hungry?”

“Always,” the pirate chuckled, eyes alight in amusement.

Kalea rolled herself out of bed and walked over to where her silk robe hung over the door to her armoire. Golden eyes followed her movement with interest, a feigned frown on plush lips when Kalea drew the robe over her bare frame. The mage’s lips drew up in an amused smile, quirking on eyebrow as she drew close enough to the bed to allow for one more kiss, which Isabela took with greed. Tempting, to ignore the rumbling in her stomach and collapse back onto the bed.

But she needed to eat something in order to keep up her stamina, not to mention Varric asked Kalea to check in with him later that night. She guessed for more questions about her life, fodder for the book he worked on. It lacked a title, and the thought of herself as the subject left her more than a little queasy. When written out like that, days of her life as pages in someone’s bedside novel, it hurt. Bethany’s death glossed over, emotionless scrawl that lacked how her mother collapsed by her sister’s side; the grey that washed Carver of color in his face, how quickly both of them spun to lay the blame on Kalea.

She gave him permission to write her life without thinking it through, alcohol skewing her reasoning when she did so.

_Bad thoughts, Kal. Must be time for another drink._

The kiss broke, her doing, as she righted herself and readjusted her robe so that her nakedness didn’t peek through. “I’ll be back,” she said, forcing a smile.

Isabela scooted along the bed to position herself on her side, her gold jewelry the only coverage for her body. “Don’t keep me waiting too long, Kitten.”

Kalea ducked out of her room, gentle with shutting the door. Her mother should have been gone for the day, but since her return to high society, she had become insufferable. Kalea did her best to avoid her, opting to stay in her room and sneak in sleeping companions like a teenager, not that their life before ever granted that luxury.

“Kalea, come here, dear.”

The young mage grimaced at the sound of her mother’s voice from the main hall, right on cue. As often as she practiced sneaking, her mother somehow knew whenever her daughter made an appearance.

She made her way toward the call, Leandra standing by the desk as she sorted through their mail. Without even a glance up, she held a stack of letters in her hands, thrust out in the direction of the stairs. “Nice of you to join me. These came for you in the week you’ve been holed up there.”

Kalea grumbled, “Not a week,” under her breath. In truth, she avoided her mail with the same countenance as she avoided her mother. Every letter came with a request for help, some poor soul searching for someone to save them from their troubles. Kalea had her own problems, but no one seemed willing to help her, not until she had coin anyhow.

She snatched the letters up, stuffing them into one of her pockets to read back in her room. Before she could turn towards the kitchen and make an escape, Leandra called again, “I’ve been meaning to discuss something with you.”

Kalea stifled a groan while she fought with her face to keep her expression neutral. “Can it wait? I was heading down to the kitchens for breakfast.”

Leandra tsked, shaking her head as pity entered her gaze. “It’s well into suppertime, Lea. I worry about you, locked away in your room the way you have been since we moved in.”

“I’m fine, Mother.”

“I think it’s time we find you a suitable husband.”

Laughter rumbled in her chest, the ridiculousness of Leandra’s words lingering in the air as Kalea threw her head back, body trembling with the force of her amusement. Here she stood, practically naked and reeking of sex, her hair a frightful mess, no doubt, from the way Isabela tugged on it while Kalea’s mouth nestled between the pirate’s legs, and this, _this_ , was when her mother decided Kalea needed a husband? Kalea waved her hand as the melancholy died down, starting her path toward the kitchen. “Good luck with that, Mother.”

Leandra’s hand shot out, gripping Kalea’s wrist to stay her departure. “I mean it. At your age, in high society, it’s almost unheard of --”

“I’m not _in_ high society.” Kalea snatched her arm away, sneering as she brushed out her robe from the imprint. “That’s your world. I don’t care what a bunch of stuck-up nobles think of me, especially when half the letters I receive are from those same people asking me to clean up their mess.”

“Seneschal Bran has a son around your age --”

“I said no, Mother!”

Leandra shrunk back, causing a twist of guilt in Kalea’s gut. But she couldn’t be sure if her mother was attempting to manipulate her again or not. Either way, Kalea’s mind was made. “Not that you care, but I have no interest in getting married or having children, specifically not with someone who doesn’t know the meaning of the word, struggle.” Some high and tight noble who never saw a day of real combat? Hard pass.

Now her mother’s eyes watered, hands wringing in front of her dress. _Manipulation at its finest_. “I only want what’s best for this family, Lea. I’d hate to go through all this trouble simply to lose the estate again should something else befall our shrinking family.”

A slight toward her, no doubt. Her mother blamed her for Carver’s disappearance into the Grey Wardens, kept as secret as the disdain from Bethany’s demise.

_I begged you not to take him with you. I begged you, and now look. Oh, my sweet child. My poor Carver. What destruction you have wrought to this family?_

Kalea tucked some of her hair behind her ear as her eyes fell onto the floor. Her mouth dried as she considered the ale sitting down in the kitchens, awaiting her arrival. Carver liked the Wardens, he wrote that himself in one of his recent letters. Her mother would not use this against her, not Carver. He was happy, as much as a little shit like him could be; Kalea needed to read between the lines of his correspondence to see that, but it existed. The Order gave him purpose, the same one he searched for at her side.

But still, the guilt returned, and with it, a wave of thirst.

_Drink first. Just appease her and get those drinks. She’s not going to let you walk away until you agree with her._

“You can set up one date, just one. I get to wear what I want, and I’ll hear no more about this arranged marriage shhhh-nonsense, got it?”

Leandra’s sullen face blossomed with the agreement, a winning smile now replacing that stuck out and quivering lower lip. “You make your mother happy.”

_Yeah, yeah..._

Kalea used that happiness to escape down into the blessed cool of the kitchen. Stew simmered over a fire, leftovers from earlier, prepared by Bodahn since her mother lost the ability to cook when they moved into the estate. The poor dwarf, stuck doing Leandra’s bidding. Kalea considered teaching him how to say no and stand up for himself, but Bodahn seemed genuine in his happiness to be of some use.

She poured herself a glass of ale from the tap and slid onto a stool by the counter as she knocked it back, blessed cool bliss rushing down her throat. When she stood to retrieve another round, the letters in her pocket knocked into her leg, reminding her of their presence. She took them out when she returned to her spot, mug once again full, thumbing through as she drank her second round at a slower pace.

One envelope caught her interest, a familiar seal stamped in wax on the back, recognizable script on the front. Her heartbeat sped up in recognition as she searched nearby for a knife to cut into it, trying not to appear over eager to receive another letter from him.

He sent exactly two letters before, back when she first returned from the Deep Roads. She never bothered to open them, not interested in anything he had to say when she tossed them into the fire. She returned, hadn’t she? Kept that stupid bloody promise that she never intended to make, back when the thought of him made her weak.

She saw him in passing a few times, across the room when she went to petition to viscount to reclaim the Amell estate. Neither said a word any acknowledgement of the other, though she caught him glancing her way a few times.

Only caught because she grew ever so aware of his presence, the instant he entered a room.

_Drink if you might not be over a specific priest._

_I said I was past him, and I meant it._

She drank anyway before unfolding the letter, curious as to why he reached out after three years. She doubted that he simply wanted to catch up, and as her eyes skimmed the page, she drank again.

_“Kalea Hawke,_

_I find myself in need of your services once again. I managed to track down those who hired the Flint Mercenary Company to assassinate my family and would like you to accompany me to confront them. I wouldn’t ask if I had anyone else to turn to, but you once made me a promise, one I mean to collect on._

_Sebastian Vael”_

Oh Maker, did he really include his last name, like she didn’t know what Sebastian would write to her about avenging his family? She groaned as she set the letter aside to refill her glass once more. A promise, even from three years ago, still held, and she owed him, did she not? After everything?

“Oh Kal, I thought we were done with this,” she mumbled, threading both hands through her hair as she stared down into her mug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I didn't mean to take that big of a break on this fic. And then every time I tried to get back into it, I kept hitting a wall. But I really like how this chapter ended up turning out and I hope you do, too. After the disaster that was Kalea and Sebastian running off to do their own thing in Act One, I'm hoping Act Two goes according to plan. 
> 
> Part of the big upset that halted progress on this chapter involved scraping Thin Lines, which I was sad to see go, and then the chaos of "Well, who IS going to be Inquisitor then?" I know that doesn't directly effect this fic, but it does, doesn't it? It effects the fourth book in the Kalea Hawke saga.
> 
> And with the loss of Thin Lines came the birth of the All-Origins series, which added and took away content to this fic. Idrina Cousland, no longer the Warden, which meant one-shots I wrote for Kalea and Sebastian no longer applied. Tabitha Amell was born and will be making an appearance in this fic, as well as the others moving forward. 
> 
> Melia Surana became the Inquisitor in Harper Trevelyan's place, which brings in a whole new angst-pile. And then working out who the Inquisition origins will become in that fic. I have two figured out, though I don't know exactly how to incorporate them into the universe yet. There's still so much to figure out, and it ties into all of the fics. 
> 
> I haven't figured out how their stories will be written. Right now, Kalea is the only one with long fics written and planned, but I hope you stick around for the long haul. There is much to do, even more to write. But I'm still here.


	10. An Answer To His Prayers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Get in and get this over with._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one goes a bit heavy with the canon dialogue. Special thanks to [GuileandGall](http://archiveofourown.org/users/guileandgall) for betaing. 
> 
> Two chapters in one month? Hell yeah. Now if only I could get back to weekly chapter updates, that would be good, thanks.

Kalea didn’t go to him; at least, not right away.

Favor owed or not, she was no one’s mabari, heeding the call like some kind of obedient bitch. She’d go, she owed him after all, but on her own time.

It took two days to slip her armor on during daylight hours. The metaphor of butterflies didn’t come close to her level of anxiety, more like wild crows flapping inside her, desperate for escape and pecking their way out.

Not even copious amounts of ale appeased their cawing, though she certainly attempted respite in the bottom of her mug.

_Can’t even pretend to keep yourself together. Hopeless._

With her armor secure, staff sheathed on her back, she meandered over to her vanity to smear her signature red paint over the bridge of her nose. Her stained finger fell away as her gaze remained on her frazzled reflection. The black eye she obtained the night prior shone like an unholy beacon on her otherwise pale face.

If he remarked on it, she’d laugh and say, “ _You should see the other guy_.” The old Sebastian would’ve understood, some scum spouting obscenities about her mother in The Hanged Man. Considering their venture today consisted of tracking down the people who ordered his family’s hit, he still might.

In her defense, she didn’t plan to greet her old … _friend?_ like this when she saw him again.

 _Not friend. Another purse, nothing more. One job, and I never have to see him again._ But even she doubted the sincerity behind her thoughts.

She summoned water to wash the paint off her finger, then straightened her back and squared her shoulders. Even with her average height, she appeared a formidable force, someone not to cross.

_What if this is a trap?_

Her rise to fortune pissed off a lot of people, most from mere jealousy. Someone could’ve figured out her connection to Sebastian and used it as a lure. It was a gamble, considering their lack of contact in recent years, and besides, who knew their past other than the Grand Cleric and Kalea’s own friends? _No_ , a trap didn’t seem likely, though that wasn’t a reason to get sloppy.

And that spidery scrawl, she knew it well enough to know belonged to him.

_And why is that again? That letter from him you didn’t burn?_

_I don’t have to explain myself to you._

She arrived at the Chantry a little after midday, later than she planned but more tempered, thanks to the half-drained keg back home in the cellar. No doubt existed that this reunion would go some shade of bad, but she reasoned with herself enough to get across the courtyard to those tall golden doors. She held her breath as the memory of her last visit flooded her thoughts, red candles and desire, for him and for release from her life. And yet here she stood, alive, breathing, half-drunk and yet not drunk enough.  

_Get in and get this over with. Get in and get this over with. Get in and --_

She threw both the heavy doors open. her inebriated calm wavered as she strolled inside, eyes scouting for him in the room. Ridiculous, that he'd be there in the foyer as though awaiting for her unannounced arrival.

Flurries of whispers that included her name increased with her descent into the vestibule, initiates gaping at her approach. So they knew who she was, her troublesome reputation a cause for concern. Which tale gave pause this time? Her stand-off with Elthina three years ago? Maybe something more recent, like her scraps in the courtyard or spotted between one of her frequent jaunts to the Blooming Rose?

When she neared the stairs that lead up to the pulpit, she heard the distinct brogue of his voice. “Forgive me, Your Grace.” The sound of it halted her steps forward, a shudder passing through her.

_Get in and get this over with._

“It is not enough to ask forgiveness for a sin you committed in full knowledge.” Kalea’s body acted of its own accord to the cadence of the Grand Cleric’s ire, her instincts driving her to duck behind one of the nearby pillars to permit eavesdropping.

Maybe she should leave and come back later, when the Elthina moved on to do Grand Cleric things, away from the pulpit and Sebastian. But no, this got handled today, and if Kalea needed to wait out Elthina, so be it.

“The Maker blessed us with minds and a conscience. He does not approve when we fail to use them.”

“I’m sorry,” Sebastian responded, but Elthina silenced him before he could say more. Sebastian, for his part, sounded sincere, at least to Kalea. What did he apologize for, what sin did he commit?

_You would want to know. Holding out hope for more aveplaste fun with him?_

_Fuck off, you. I’m here because I owe him._

_It all equates to standing here because of him, doesn’t it?_

“I’m not the one you wronged.”

Kalea rolled her eyes at Elthina’s holier-than-thou attitude. No wonder Sebastian mirrored it so well three years ago, his role model perched high on her golden Chantry horse. And where was his sass, his ability to defend himself against this old crone? She pitied this new subservient side of him, how easily he bowed under a pressure she knew him capable to overcome.

“I thought it would end here.” It hurt her ears to hear the break in his voice, how much it sounded like begging. Whatever they discussed ate at him, conflict in his tone for presumed crimes against the Maker. “Serah Hawke decimated Flint Company. None remain.”

Comprehension dawned on her at the mention of the mercenaries, the very reason she stood behind this pillar. _His family_. If she hated Elthina before, that compared nothing to her fury toward the elder priestess in that moment, to torment Sebastian simply for seeking closure to his family’s murders.

Now was her time to intervene, reveal her presence.

_His knight in shining armor._

_You don’t quit, do you?_

“Yet, now that I know who sent them, it’s harder to see their death as justice.”

Kalea restored her posture, striving to appear as though she hadn’t eavesdropped on his conversation. The leather of her boots slapped against the stairs when she resumed her climb to the top. No need to hide her approach.

“Death is never justice.” Elthina’s words rang throughout the room as if the final word in a private sermon. The hypocrisy of her statement irked Kalea; how many thousands died in the Maker’s name, under the banner of justice?

An actual spirit of Justice, currently occupying Anders’ body; what Kalea wouldn’t give to hear a conversation between it and Elthina. But the spirit disliked Kalea ever since Anders and she began their late night rendezvous, and she suspected that it might not let her use it to antagonize the Grand Cleric, as rewarding as it would be for both her and Anders.

“I --” Sebastian’s sentence cut short when his eyes connected with Kalea’s, the sharp anguish in his gaze quickly replaced with neutrality. _Armor_. “Hawke. We were just talking about you.” He showed no surprise at her sudden entry, leaving her to wonder when he sensed her presence. How long did he know she lingered nearby?

 _Hawke, was it? No Kalea, no Pidge or Pigeon, just Hawke? Unfamiliarity._ Should she have expected anything less though, given their lack of contact in the past three years?

_He called you Kalea when he first saw you in Kirkwall._

She bit her tongue, but not enough to halt her sassy reply. “Only good things, I hope?” Her eyes lingered on the Grand Cleric, a smirk gracing Kalea’s lips while the old woman wrinkled her nose in distaste.

_Formal is better. We need some distance from who we were._

_Who are you trying to convince?_

“I’ve learned who hired Flint Company -- the Harimanns, a noble family of Kirkwall.” Sebastian held an even tone, none of the sentiment she heard him use with Elthina.

_Harimann? Why did that name sound so familiar? Didn’t Meeran send me after someone with that name before?_

_That’s one less to go through if they’re related._

“They were my parents’ allies.” Sebastian’s guard fell for a moment, eyes brimming with a burning hatred as he continued with, “It’s hard to believe they betrayed us like this.”

_Not very priest-like, that animosity._

“How do you want to handle them?” Kalea crossed her arms, leaning back on one leg while Elthina tittered on her side of the pulpit. Personally, she agreed with the idea of vengeance, but this wasn’t her decision, something the Grand Cleric needed to grow to comprehend.  

“Sebastian, I beg of you, don’t do this. Give this up. Dedicate yourself to the Chantry, as you swore.”

Kalea’s eyebrow raised at that indication. _Not a vowed brother?_

_Keep it in your pants._

_Just curious._

Sebastian spun his attention away from the Grand Cleric, ignoring her plea in order to answer Kalea. “I must speak with Lady Harimann and find out what drove her to this madness.”

Kalea shrugged. “Money? Power? Take your pick. It’s an old tale, Sebastian.” She felt pressed to say more, but with Elthina’s keen interest in the conversation, she decided her words were best suited in private.

He nodded in response. “As the last of my line, I should not go alone and make myself a target.”

Kalea threw her head back and laughed. “This is where that favor comes in, right? Subtlety never was your gift.” With reluctance, she righted her stance, arms falling down to her side. “Let’s get on with it then.”

“Thank you, Hawke.” He half-bowed before her, and she had a mind to jerk him up by his hood, such a ridiculous display of … _what exactly? Gratitude?_ But so many people bowed in her presence these days. As much as that action made her uncomfortable, seeing Sebastian mimic it twisted inside her gut, like she was someone of worth.

A scowl glossed over any blushing or small smile as she stomped down the stairs, not ensuring that he followed. But with his long strides, he caught up with little effort, only to slow his pace to walk at her side.

The glare of the sunlight hit her as she pushed through the doors, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the shift in light. She hesitated at the top of the stairs, using her hand to shield her vision when she glanced over to Sebastian. “So where are we headed exactly? I assume you know where you’re going.”

“Aye, we’re close to it.” His lips pinched together as though he fought back a remark. Perhaps a question about her black eye? But he surprised her with, “I thought you would bring some of your friends with you.”

“I figured you might want this handled with discretion.” As they took off down the stairs, she waved to a nearby set leading up to the mansions of Hightown. “Fenris lives nearby, if you think we’ll need backup.”

_And you know he always has some kind of booze on hand. Sebastian is a literal buzzkill._

“I thought you _just wanted to talk_ ,” she goaded, trying her best not to stumble down the steps.

“It is always best to come prepared, Hawke.” His self-assured grin caught her off guard, a tremble starting in her knees as one landed on a stair, crumbling under her weight. His hands shot out to grab her upper arms, effective in keeping her upright. “Careful. These stairs can be treacherous if you’re not paying attention.”

She yanked her arm away from him, fighting off the wild heat that crept toward her cheeks. Manners dictated she thank him for keeping her from making a bigger spectacle of herself or breaking her neck, but she preferred playing petulant.

_Why do you let him bring out this side to you?_

_Another person might be good to have as a buffer, fuck privacy._

They stopped at Fenris’ mansion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Chapter Titles: Kalea Hawke and her never-ending crush on Sebastian


	11. Repentance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"The desire for power is easy enough to find. You and your friend both possess it, do you not? You both wish to rise.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is majorly canon heavy. Ugh. I feel dead. 
> 
> Beta'd by Guileandgall. Hopefully I applied those notes right. Can I just skip to writing fluff of these two already? /head to desk/

Picking up Fenris meant opening one of Danarius’ expensive bottles of wine. The dust of the dank cellar tickled at Kalea’s nose as the two men crowded in front of her while she perched herself on one of the tables. She took the first swig of the newly opened bottle of a fancy Tevinter Chardonnay before holding it out in Sebastian’s direction. He declined with a wave of his hand. “I thought you might take this seriously, Hawke.”

Fenris chuckled, accepting the wine in Sebastian’s stead. “This is her taking it seriously.”

Kalea nodded as she uncorked another bottle; this one reeked of medicine. “What he said.” She sniffed at the swill before scouting for the label. “You sure this shit is drinkable?”

Sebastian wrinkled his nose in distaste, a mirror image of the Grand Cleric herself. An involuntary sneer twisted Kalea’s lips, unable to fight it off even if she tried. _Those two spend entirely too much time together._ “I would advise against that, Hawke. Gin can be quite ... strong.”

“Of course you’ve tried it.” Kalea poured herself a capful and tossed it back, her throat searing with the harsh taste of evergreen. “Fuck -- What the fuck was that?” The coughing fit that followed distressed the table where she sat so hard that she thought it might break. She stuck her tongue out, face scrunching as she sought to find something to wash out the bitter taste. “Fucking disgusting! Why would anyone drink that fucking stuff? Blegh!”

Sebastian covered his mouth with a hand, but she noted the tremble in his shoulders that signaled his laughter at her expense. “I had a similar reaction my first time, too.”

“Before your Chantry days, no doubt.” The words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them, a side effect of her intoxication. His good humor fell with the grin on his face, his posture righting itself with a narrowing to his gaze. Fuck, she messed up.

Fenris, her reliable buffer, acted in response she relied on when she arrived at his doorstep. “We should head out before you end up passing out, Hawke.”

A light-hearted grin stretched to replace the scowl on her lips. “That was once! You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“No,” the elf quipped with a superior smirk.

Restlessness emanated from Sebastian, who glanced over his shoulder toward the exit. She drained the wine bottle she shared with Fenris before acknowledging Sebastian’s despondent attitude. “Right, off we go then. Vengeance and all that shit.” Quick strides toward the stairs carried her to his side. “D’you decide what you plan to do yet? Still on your ‘just a quick chat’ tangent or have you moved to reality yet?”

The two climbed the stairs in tandem, her struggling to keep pace while he fought to take point. Fenris lagged in the back, pretending not to eavesdrop, possibly wondering why she barged into and invited him along. The alcohol they drank was supposed to help settle her nerves, but it did a piss poor job of it. Though Sebastian’s soured mood, thanks to her, helped none.  

“It pains me to see you this way, Hawke.” As they broke through the front door and into the sunlight, Sebastian paused to glimpse her way. “I do take confession, if you ever find yourself in need.”

_Let’s play a game called ‘How fast can I get Bas mad at me?’ I think I already won this round._

“Alright, message received loud and clear. I’ll keep my mouth shut. Consider me your silent companion, only here to do your dirty work for you while you keep your hands clean.” A smug grin formed at the slight wince he gave to her words.

_So I can still get to him then. Good._

He walked away, asserting himself to lead the small group the short stroll to the Harimann Estate. When he approached the door, his hand hesitated above the knob, his head bowed as his eyes closed. Praying or steeling himself for the task ahead, she couldn’t be certain. Perhaps both.

“Why are we helping him?” Fenris whispered as the two lingered a few feet back, waiting for Sebastian to open the door. “He seems uncomfortable around you.”

_Yeah, no kidding._

“Because I pay my debts,” Kalea snapped, misdirected anger aimed toward her friend. This whole damn situation grated under her skin, Sebastian on his fucking high horse when she helped him. For no coin, she might add. “Royal bastard could at least act like he’s grateful though.”

“Aye, I am grateful,” Sebastian replied, annoyance coloring his tone. “Thank you, Hawke and her friend.”

“Fenris,” the elf gruffed.

“Fenris,” Sebastian repeated as though committing it to memory. “Are you Andrastian, Fenris?”

Kalea shook her head in disbelief. “Hey, you in the front. Get with the lockpicking and stop trying to convert my friends, got it?” To herself, she muttered, “Nothing to see here, just a small group of suspicious looking individuals trying to break into an estate in broad daylight, while one of them preaches about the Maker.”

Sebastian twisted the handle, and much to everyone’s surprise, it swung open. Sebastian’s brow furrowed. “That’s strange. The door’s unlocked.”

“Funny how many mansions we come across like that in Hightown,” Kalea replied, earning a pointed look from Fenris. But right then, their first priority was entry without raising suspicion. She marched forward -- _look like you belong here_ \-- and entered into the foyer, the men on her heels. Fenris shut and locked the door behind them to prevent any guards from running in after them, had they noticed. Standard protocol at this point for her type of excursions.  

But no one did. And not a single guard stood by for attack, nor any other soul in the place.

Sebastian echoed her observation as she moved toward the letter desk, the only piece of furniture in the room. The lit candles meant someone or something was home, though a slight tingling on her spine suggested what they found might not be human anymore. She scoured the desk, turning up no clues as to the current state to the place.

Her eyes found Fenris and he nodded as the two slipped their weapons from their sheaths. “I don’t think you’re going to get that conversation, Sebastian.”

But he moved on without them, up the stairs, his bow still in its place on his back. “Something is very wrong here.”

The tingling sensation on her spine pulsated like tiny little needles poking under her skin. And judging from where it located, she had a good guess what type of demon resided somewhere in the estate.

_Desire._

_Well, fuck me._

 

* * *

 

_Why can’t this shit ever be simple?_

“It knows we’re here, so why are we hiding?” Kalea glared down to where Sebastian crouched, stealing glances around the corner of the ruins they hid behind while the demon and who she assumed was Lady Harimann conversed. Her warding tattoo, once a tingle, now burned in the close proximity to the demon, similar to that of a vicious sunburn. And if she felt its presence, it shared that sense with her. Hopefully in a pain just as bad as her own.

“There’s still a chance we have the element of surprise.” Sebastian’s glare rivaled her own as he rose to his full height.

“Right, cause I’m sure it missed all that fighting we did.” Fenris rolled his eyes, and Kaea pointed to him in agreement.

“Mages are catnip to these fucking things.” Kalea dared him to protest further, to tell her that she was wrong. Even if he remembered nothing else from when they first met, the nightmares she experienced in their travels should be there in his memories. How many times did she wake them both, screaming?

Her ploy worked, the fight leaving his shoulders as his gaze softened. “Aye, you’re right. It knows.”

“It probably knew the instance I stepped inside. Not to mention the Museum of Weird up there.” She referred to the possessed members of the Harimann family, acting out their deepest desires on an almost loop. Sebastian tried to help them, but they were caught up in the demon’s spell. And then the shades that fought them when they found the secret entrance to the ruins, that definitely gave them away, if nothing else.

Words echoed from the conversation ahead, “Starkhaven” and “Vael” and “heed”. Not definitive proof, but the situation looked damning, Lady Harimann bowed at the demon’s feet.

Kalea shot Sebastian a glance. Time for him to figure out if he truly planned to _simply talk_ , as he put it, or claim revenge for his family. After battling through the arcane creatures to reach the guilty party, Kalea was partial to the revenge bit. “You ready?”

Despite the unease written into his face, he nodded, readying his bow. “This madness ends now.” He slipped out from around the corner first, Kalea taking left flank and Fenris the right.

“I have given you much,” the demon’s seductive voice rang out while they approached. “Your desires run deep. You’ve already traded your husband and your children. What more could you offer?”

“At the Blooming Rose, fifty silver’s standard for a whore.” Kalea gripped the center of her staff, drawing on her magic to ignite the bladed end in flame. No matter Sebastian’s decision, that demon belonged skewered at the end of her blade. Near debilitating pain flared out from her ward at the close contact; she bit hard into her lip to manage it.

The demon turned on them with a sinister grin on its face, beckoning them forward with a finger, “You’ll hardly find my services ‘standard.’”

The kneeling woman shot up in a panic. “Who is this? Who are you? How did you get here?” Shocked horror swept her face as her eyes connected with the enraged man to Kalea’s right. “Sebastian?”

“You were my mother’s friend!” Sebastian’s hold on his bow tightened to the point Kalea thought he might snap it in two. Any passivity left the Chantry brother as rage poured forth, a stomp toward Lady Harimann. “How could you murder her?”

The demon cut back in. “Such an ugly word. I prefer ‘removed the only obstacle between her and her dreams.’”

Sebastian’s fury swung to the desire demon. “This was _your_ idea!” He readied an arrow, but Kalea intervened, hand on his arrow to aim it back towards the ground. When he glimpsed her way in his confusion, she shook her head, mouthing, “not yet.” She knew what came next, the words the desire demons used. She heard of it enough times.

“I could create such desires if I wished. But it’s far easier to nurture those that already exist. The desire for power is easy enough to find. You and your friend both possess it, do you not? You both wish to rise.”

Sebastian flinched at the accusation, perhaps hitting too close for comfort, but Kalea leveled her gaze with the demon. “Yeah, good try, but we both know my wards prevent you from reading me. Thanks for playing though.” She lobbed a fireball in its direction, prompting her companions to act.

Lady Harimann dashed to her mistress’ side to aid in its protection. Summoned shades grew from the shadows around the room. Kalea’s mark blazed white hot, her battling out the sizzling pain while doing her best to use her staff and guard her companions. She couldn’t help but notice Sebastian’s lackluster fighting, none of the old quips spouted off with each arrow, fumbling each shot he loosed.

_It got to him bad._

She spun, slamming her blade into a shade that aimed for Sebastian’s back. It melted back into the ground with a shriek, and she whirled on Sebastian. “Did the Chantry castrate your bow, too?”

He swung so fast that she thought he might get whiplash, his face a boiling tomato red. She chuckled at his snarl, already stringing up his bow with the next shot. This one flew through the air, right into the eye of one of the shades surrounding the desire demon. It collapsed like the others, sinking into the ground. Sebastian grinned with triumph, his confidence restored. “Did you see that shot?”

Anger, she knew, was a powerful motivator. Especially defiant anger. Not that she didn’t enjoy seeing him riled like that.

No longer worried about Sebastian, and Fenris smashing through the shades like they were glass, she turned her attention to the demon and its resident bitch.

An arrow flew at Lady Harimann, and she crumbled to the demon’s right, it stuck through her heart. Kalea sneered, focusing her blade in the center of the demon’s chest. “This was fun, but I have a thing later. I suggest you fall.”

The demon threw its head back to laugh. “You think I can’t see the desire in you because of your ward, but I see you, little mage. There’s no desire there because inside you, there is only the nothingness.”

“Wrong answer.” She plunged the blade through its whirling protection shields, straight into its stomach. Twisting the blade as she shoved it in harder, electricity sparked from the end, surging throughout the demon as its eyes rolled to the back of its head.

When she withdrew the blade, the demon slumped to the ground with no sign of rising. In almost a simultaneous wave, the shades collapsed, leaving only the bloody bodies of the desire demon and Lady Harimann. Kalea knelt and slid her knife from her boot, going over to the two bodies and slashing their throats. No chance of a surprise attack then, and that demon … Kalea gave it an extra hard kick after righting herself.

_Shit, it got to me too._

_Go on, tell them it’s not true. But you can’t, can you?_

Kalea turned to her companions wiping the blood on her knife off with the back of her thigh. “This place gives me the creeps. Can we leave yet?” A forced smile played upon her lips, her alcohol buzz officially gone. Perhaps she could snag more wine from the upstairs portion of the estate.

Sebastian nodded, a mixture of anger and pity brimming in his gaze when their eyes connected. She turned away with nothing to say to him. “Let us return to the Chantry. I must pray for Lady Harimann’s soul.”

Kalea rolled her eyes at the mention of prayer, preferring to lag behind while the group traipsed back toward the surface. Neither offered anything as far as conversation, which suited her fine. The thing she admired most about Fenris: he knew when to shut the fuck up.   


* * *

 

 

Fenris departed their cluster when they passed by his mansion. Kalea wanted nothing more than to follow him, run away from Sebastian. The silence wouldn’t last forever, and sure, he ached. Revenge didn’t taste as sweet when a demon puppeted the offending party’s strings, but she paid her debt as far as she was concerned. Their partnership ended when they left the estate.

When she turned toward home and he toward his beloved Chantry, a gloved hand on her wrist stayed her escape. “I can honestly say it’s been very ... exciting working with you again.”

She brushed his hand away with a frown, her skin itching where he touched her. “Right. Exciting.”

Her footsteps carried her a short distance before he started up again. “Kalea.”

The sound of her name falling from her lips halted her flight back to the Amell Estate. She stilled, not daring to turn around to see what he must think of her, what truths the demon uncovered for them both.

Deciding her pause enough of a reason to continue, he did just that. “I meant what I said earlier about confessions. You’re headed down a dark path, lass.”

She raised her hand in the air in a half-wave, a heavy sigh clearing her lungs. “I’d say it’s great to see you again, Sebastian, but Maker forbid I lie to you.” She left him standing in the courtyard, sparing not even a peek behind her.

_There’s no desire there because inside you, there is only the nothingness._

The bottles welcomed her home.


	12. Your Own Personal Demon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It should be easy, hand him the bow, leave. His problems belonged to him, just as hers thumped in her chest, locked behind her ribcage. Let him sort out his own issues. He might not even open up to her, so why bother?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta by Guileandgall
> 
> Can you tell my level of care for chapter title naming has fallen? Look though, I love Depeche Mode. 
> 
> You can thank MsSaboteur for this chapter getting posted so soon. Their cries reached out to me about them needing to soothe the angst of the last chapter. 
> 
>  
> 
> _But you do know that canonically, Act 2 gets pretty angsty, right? On its own, without my help?_

_Fuck._

Stupid bow, with its tiny House of Vael symbol etched inside the lower half of the forest green wood. Why did she have to go and loot it off one of the bodies? What did she even need a bow for? She didn’t, and she didn’t need the coin for it either. She should’ve left it.

_It’s not like you can return it to where you found it._

“No harm in trying though, right?” Temptation to throw the bow against the wall grew strong, to destroy this piece of wood that tied Sebastian to her still. She groaned instead, falling back onto her bed, hands raised to her eyes to block out the light and grant her the peace to think about her next move.

_How would that conversation with Flora Harimann go? “Excuse me, but I picked this off of one of the dead guys in your basement. Would you be a dear and return it?”_

“You don’t have to put it like that, but I can ask if she could give it to Bas the next time she sees him. Her family did steal it, after all. Or the mercenaries did, but same difference really.” She rubbed at her face before rolling onto her side, setting the bow down beside her while she glared in its direction.

_You’d really go through all that just to not see him again?_

“I said no more and I meant it. So what if I’ve somehow acquired what is most likely a priceless family heirloom of his. Again. That’s not a good enough reason to return to the Chantry.” Maybe this was a sign to stop looting. That had to be it, right? Why else did she keep coming across Sebastian’s possessions?

_If it was your family heirloom, he’d return it to you._

Kalea groaned, slamming her hands against the bed. Her other self -- conscience, whatever the fuck to call it -- it raised a good point. One last good deed, and then so long, Bas. And after that, no more excuses to go see him, obligation or otherwise.

_Drink if you think it’ll help._

So she did. She ran a two drink minimum when leaving the estate, and considering the brevity of the situation, she bumped herself up to four, almost forgetting the bow on her way out due to her intoxication. What did she care about what he thought of her? Why challenge his insinuations about her life?

A stinging, bitter rain bit into her as she crossed the short distance from her doorstep to the Chantry, her hair a soggy mess when she arrived under the portico. One day. She lasted one day before seeking him out again.

_Fucking bow._

At least her black eye faded a bit more, though she felt the fat drops of her nose paint streaking down her face from the unexpected rain. Drunk, a mess, and stumbling into the house of the Maker. No wonder the initiates began to pray as she neared.

One of the brave souls stepped up to greet her, hushed giggles and whispers behind the initiate’s back while all observed the interaction. “Serah Hawke,” the woman bowed. “It’s an honor to see you again.”

 _Again?_ Kalea struggled to place the face or voice, but came up with nothing.

The woman didn’t take offense to the lack of memory. “You saved my brother and I once when bandits surrounded us on the Coast.”

Still, her memory drew a blank. Kalea forced an awkward smile and shrugged. “I save a lot of people, kid.”

“I know,” the initiate replied with a nod of her head. “We hear much about your good deeds.”

_Huh, that’s news to me._

Kalea rubbed the back of her neck as her eyes fell to the ground, a blush rising in her cheeks. “Yeah, well, I’m looking for someone.” Recognition crawled over her skin like a million tiny ants, unsettling her at the prospect that people discussed her without her knowledge. She knew it happened, but to be told directly to her face about the occurence; how was she supposed to react to that? “Uses a bow, kind of an asshole?” Her hand dropped away from her neck to gesture above her head. “About yeigh high?”

The woman chuckled, raising her hand to cover her mouth. “You mean Sebastian. I can get him for you, if you’d like.” There came a hesitation before the posing of her question. “Are you and he …?”

Kalea cackled, the sound startling some of the nearby initiates. “Maker, no! I’m here to drop something off, nothing else.” She raised the bow in her hand to solidify her story, as though she needed to prove herself to this stranger. Her laughter petered out at the disappointed expression on the other woman’s face. “Besides, don’t you people have rules against things like that?”

“Normally, yes, but Sebastian isn’t technically a brother here.”

Kalea’s heart skipped a beat at that information.

_Not this again. So what? So he’s not vowed or whatever. That doesn’t automatically make me interested in him._

The woman continued on. “We saw you with him yesterday and one of the sisters mentioned how you used to come around more to see him.”

“Little gossips, you Chantry mice are.” Kalea rolled her eyes, wiping at some of the water that dripped from her chin. Her hand came back crimson from her paint. “Can you tell him to meet me on the balcony? I’d like some privacy from any curious ears. I’d hate for more people to keep their wrong impressions.”

A rosy blush spread over the initiate’s face. “Of course. I apologize.” The woman scurried away, leaving Kalea alone to mosey upstairs and take a seat in the back row of benches. Her leg bounced, a sign of her impatience, her hands twisting on the bow while she waited for that familiar flash of auburn hair.

It followed a breath later from one of the doors down below. From her perch, she observed his … _sulk? Was that the right word?_ A weight bore down on his shoulders, his usual proud posture bent as he made his way to her, only glancing up once. When their eyes connected, his gaze reflected the same haunted look that originated in the ruins under the Harimann Estate.

 _Not my business._ But that reasoning did nothing to suspend the worry for his current state.

She rose to her feet when he approached, sitting the bow to the side of her. He scarcely acknowledged her presence, sinking into the opposite space beside her and leaning forward using the back of the bench in front of them to rest his elbows.

“What are you doing here, Hawke?”

His voice sounded resigned, exhaustion taking a toll on him. _Has he slept?_

She resisted the urge to run a hand over his shoulders, holding back a touch in a show of comfort. Somehow, she didn’t think he’d appreciate the gesture.

It should be easy, hand him the bow, leave. His problems belonged to him, just as hers thumped in her chest, locked behind her ribcage. _Let him sort out his own issues._ He might not even open up to her, so why bother?

But, as she exhaled a resigned sigh, she knew she wasn’t going anywhere.

“What’s wrong, Sebastian? You look worse than I do.”

He cracked a smile, genuine if not small, when his eyes turned to her, roving over her face. “Somehow, I don’t quite believe that.”

That smile allowed an opening. She kept her hands to herself, gripping her kneecaps, but she nudged his shoulder with her own. “I mean it. You look like absolute shit.”

“Thanks, Hawke.” He rolled his eyes before shifting his gaze out onto the rest of the Chantry.

When his silence persisted without a hopeful sign of him picking the conversation back up, she cleared her throat. He was going to make her work for it, damn him. Her mind once again turned to handing off the bow and leaving. But the man clearly needed a friend, she read it in the dark bags under his eyes. And for lack of better options, she might have to be that for him.

“Bas, what’s wrong?”

His face twisted as he struggled to decide if he wanted to open up to her; she watched the spectacle play out while she waited with patience for his answer. A sigh of relief or fatigue, she couldn’t tell the difference escaped his lungs as he sank forward, leaning more heavily against the bench in front.

“I had hoped prayer might cleanse me of the desire demon’s touch.” His hands slid over one another in front of him. A flicker of scarlet red caught her eyes in their dance, her heart lurching into her throat when she realized what it was. Judging by the raw state of his knuckles, she doubted he used just prayer to attempt to cleanse himself. How far did those scabs extend under his robes, his incessant, obsessive need to purify himself written out in blood?

_Oh, Bas. Not like this._

“But I still hear her voice so clearly. I feel like I’ve bathed in filth that will never come off,” he continued.

He flinched when she touched him, placing a hand on his back as means of comfort. But he let it stay, not mentioning the circles she drew there. Her mother did it to her once or twice, and it always made her feel at least a little better afterward.

“They’re only words, Sebastian. Why are you acting as though you did something wrong?”

Sebastian hung his head between the gap of his arms, eyes on the floor. “The demon didn’t lie. I used to be bitterly jealous of my brother. I wanted to be prince.”

She guessed where the conversation headed but left him to finish out his thoughts. Perhaps speaking these words out loud might provide him some peace, to get them out into the open.

“Now, everything he had is mine. And he lies in ashes.”

What comfort could she offer him when her own sibling’s death tormented her still? When Carver’s sudden departure ate at her while she slept, only drink quieting the nightmares and taunting?

In truth, she envied her sister, too. Bethany saw beauty and greatness in all things, her faith in the Maker unshaken even after their father’s death. How Kalea despised her when Bethany disappeared into the Chantry for hours on end, praying, meditating, believing that someone gave a shit about them, a family of poor apostates.

The Chantry said it true: the Maker abandoned them.

The words to soothe him lodged in her throat, unnoticed as he went on. “I keep asking myself, do I want this because it’s right, or simply to have what I never thought I could?”

There came a pause, as though he waited for her to hand him the answer to his question. But this situation existed uniquely to him, and any counsel she provided would reflect that.  “Demons are good like that, knowing where best to strike.” Vague, but the best she could offer.

He shook his head, keeping it down still. “Not you.” He turned his head so that his eyes caught hers. “She couldn’t read you.”

Kalea’s face fell grim, her gaze turning away from his with a dark tinge to her cheeks from shame. “What I want will never happen. What can a desire demon offer me then?” Her hand fell away from his back and onto her lap. “The ward tattoo also helped.” She forced a smile, though she saw he didn’t buy it.

“What …” He swallowed a lump in his throat. “What is it you want?”

_Honesty moment. Are you going to tell him?  He trusts you, and I think somewhere deep inside, you still trust him._

“I want …” Her nails dug into her palms from the tightly-clenched fists on her lap. The words froze on her lips, her unspoken truth locked by her tongue.

_Family. I want my family back._

He’d understand, cause surely he wished the same, but her desire remained hers, not out on display for the world. The tears that burned in the corners of her eyes faded back into the void from which they grew. The demon didn’t lie, not about Sebastian, and not about her.

Her nails dug so hard she thought she might break the skin. Her eyebrows raised reset the expression on her face back to neutral.  “Cocky asshole, you thought I was going to say you, didn’t you?” She forced a chuckle at the heat that blossomed under her cheeks by her insinuation.

Leaning back into the bench, she stretched her arms and legs forward before relaxing. “If I want something, I get it. Booze, sex, coin. What else is there?” She crossed her legs, gaze cast out over the rest of the Chantry. The initiate from earlier caught her attention, sweeping the entry hall while chatting with a sister. “I have no desires, the demon was right about that.”

“That’s not a way to live.” A hard edge entered his voice, clueing her in that he knew she lied to him. “She was right about you, wasn’t she? The nothingness?”

She gritted her teeth, turning her face away so he couldn’t spot her reaction. “It was just upset that it couldn’t read me. Started spouting shit. Don’t try to think too hard about it.”

“I’ve lived your life, before coming to the Chantry, before … before Ferelden. She wasn’t wrong, how empty it feels, how your vices feed into that hole inside you.”

“Save me the lecture, okay?” She started to rise to her feet to storm out, but the bow dug into her thigh, a reminder for why she sat there. Not yet, it said, and she obliged, settling back into her seat. Even if only to get them annoyed with each other, he already looked more at ease then when she arrived.

This talking shit helped him. “So the prince thing, you know I can’t tell you what to do there, right? You have to decide for yourself. Though I might be more than a little biased against the Chantry life.”

_A Prince certainly has its perks. No one tells a Prince what to do, or who to do it with._

“Aye.” A heavy sigh filtered out of his lungs, carrying some of the weight of his burden with it. It wasn’t perfect, but she felt she helped bring him a bit of comfort in some small way. “I owe you more than I can say, Kalea. Your arrival was truly a gift from the Maker.”

“No, not the Maker,” she grumbled, bending over to pluck the bow from its seat beside her. “I did come here with a purpose, you know.” His eyes widened in recognition of the bow in her hands. “I believe this belongs to you.”

Sebastian took it, eyes brimming with wonder as he gingerly plucked the string. The hand holding the bow ran along the wood, stopping to trace the seal that branded it his. “My grandfather’s bow! But …” His gaze traveled from the bow back to her. “Where did you get it?”

“Do you want specifics, or can I just say the Harimann Estate?” There was some enjoyment to watching the gracious smile that stole away his sullen mood. Had she ever seen him this happy, felt this elated energy that emanated from him?

“This is …” His attention returned to the bow in his hand, smile growing till it spanned the length of his face. “It’s hard to mourn the loss of a thing while my family lies dead. But I did think of it.”

 _And to think, you almost gave up this opportunity._ A grin spread out on her lips as he became enraptured with the object, fiddling with the ends and plucking the string. “You never spoke about your grandfather.”

Sebastian answered her statement by recounting several stories about the devout man that inspired him to take up the bow at a young age. As he spoke, his eyes glazed over with memory, sinking back into a time where the old man lived. Kalea watched him, fascinated by the fast shift in Sebastian’s mood and enjoying the boyish excitement that shone from his face, some of that happiness he emulated spreading to her.  When he finished his stories, she sat back, a wide smile on her face.

“You really loved him.”

A flicker of pain like a shadow shot across his face. “Aye, I did.”

“Then I’m glad it’s back in your hands.” A pause. “If you ever want to test it out, you’re welcome to come along on one of our excursions.”

_Stupid, why did you do that? One time, remember? Last time._

_Maybe I like having him around more than I thought._

Sebastian let go of the bow, that hand brushing against her knee. “Thank you, for this -- for the bow. It has been nice ... talking with you again.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it has.” Without thinking, she tucked her hair behind her ear, biting into her lip as she smiled at the floor. She didn’t make a move to leave, content with the warmth of his thigh pressed into hers. For the first time since her arrival to Kirkwall, the Chantry was exactly where she wanted to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An alternate chapter: 
> 
> Sebastian: The demon didn’t lie. I used to be bitterly jealous of my brother. I wanted to be prince. Now everything he had is mine. And he lies in ashes. I keep asking myself, ‘Do I want this because it’s right, or simply to have what I never thought I could?’
> 
> Hawke: That's so sad. Alexa, play Despacito.


	13. Cave Crawling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You must have something good on her. Usually, Kitten’s all for talking about her conquests.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so this chapter was a long time coming. And it wasn't because it wasn't written, because it was. I just went through a crisis moment with the fic and thought I was going to rewrite it and get rid of this fic, but I think I'm going to continue and just do side fics. Which isn't ideal but honestly, I feel like Kalea needs her own story, not a story of three. So here with are. Consider this a New Year's treat, right before you're thrown into her chaos. I really just love this chapter. It's very bantery. 
> 
> A change: I gave Sebastian a nickname retroactively. Kalea now calls him "Bas" and has since Ashes. 
> 
> I'm super excited cause Evelyn Trevelyan makes her appearance soon, as does Tabitha Amell.

“Kalea, dear. May we speak?” Leandra’s voice cut through the quiet halls of the Amell Estate, halting what Kalea hoped to be a quick exit. Hubert asked for her help with The Bone Pit, and she needed to gather some of her friends to go down there and figure out the newest in a long venture of problems. It promised an all day excursion, and she wanted to get at it before night fell. That place gave her the creeps in the worse way, helped along by the chaos and death she witnessed there.

“Is this going to take long?” She moved from the bottom of the stairs over to the corner of the hearth where her mother stood, twisting her hands. “I have a job that needs to get done today.” Damn Bone Pit. Why she ever invested, she didn’t know, but it was proving to be a large headache. 

“Of course, dear.” Leandra smiled, thin-lipped and unsteady. “I’ve been wondering … if I shouldn’t remarry.” There came a pause, one to gauge Kalea’s reaction. 

The remark took Kalea by surprise. Her mother, with someone else? It felt like tarnishing her father’s memory, erasing the history she shared with him. Another last name? Some noble type probably, to wash away the stain the Hawkes left on the Amell name.  

Kalea did little to hide the sense of betrayal the request left in her. But her mother came to her with the idea, instead of going forth on her own. There was that to consider. Through gritted teeth, Kalea replied, “Did you have someone in mind?” 

“Nothing I’m ready to share yet, so don’t pry.” 

Kalea clenched her fists at her side, spinning away from her mother to glare into the fire in the hearth. Why even bring it to her attention? Did she seek her counsel or merely meant to rub her nose in it? 

Leandra tapped Kalea on the shoulder to regain her attention, but Kalea drew away, refusing to look behind her. “Malcolm was the love of my life. No one can ever fill his spot in my heart.” 

“Then why bother trying?” Kalea stayed her course. This wasn’t what she wanted to deal with today. Suddenly cleaning up some mess in the Pit didn’t seem like such a bad prospect. In truth, she didn’t care what her mother did, the two of them only seeing each other in passing as they lived their separate lives. But why bring it up to her? Why ask? How could she expect any other response from her child? 

“That doesn’t mean I don’t deserve some company in my dotage.” 

When Leandra attempted to lay a hand on Kalea’s shoulder, the younger woman dashed across the room, making for the door. “We’ll talk about this later, Mother. I have somewhere I need to be right now.” The door slammed behind Kalea on the way out, but not before she heard the resigned sigh of her mother. 

* * *

 

“And then she has the audacity to say imply that there’s someone else!” Kalea threw her hands up in the air, recounting her story about her mother with her friends as they travelled the road out of Hightown. “Can you believe this shit?” 

Sebastian and Isabela chuckled at both sides of her, but Aveline growled from her position in the back. “You’re being childish, Hawke. Your mother’s life doesn’t stop with the death of her husband.” 

_ This is why you never get invited along anymore, Aveline.  _ Kalea crossed her arms over her chest, walking backwards so the redhead got a clear view of the irate expression on Kalea’s face. But Aveline lost her husband, too, so how could Kalea argue with that? Aveline knew well what her mother went through, the cycle of emotions she felt, that need and desire to move on. 

Isabela jumped in when the quiet lasted too long. “Your mother just wants to get laid, Hawke. The old gal’s got needs.” She cackled as Kalea spun back around, face heated with her hands over her ears. 

“Gross! You think I want to picture my mother getting laid?” 

“I’m sure she’s had to  _ listen  _ you doing it. You’re not exactly quiet.” 

Kalea spun around, eyes wide with shock at the blatant audacity, earning a hard laugh from Isabela and an involuntary snort from Sebastian. Realizing what he did and how Isabela quirked an eyebrow in his direction, he pretended to cough instead, the color in his cheeks darkening while he struggled to make up for his mistake. 

Isabela slapped her knee before stepping over to the blushing Chantry priest, slinging her arm around his shoulders. “I knew it! Tell me, when did it happen? Was it a couple years ago?” She winked in Kalea’s direction, who whirled back around and began to march forward again, middle finger high in the air. “I want all the dirty details.” 

Even with some distance, Kalea couldn’t help overhearing his reply, curious herself about what information he might divulge. “It was in my old life, before I took my vows.” 

“You don’t have to answer her, Bas,” she called back, hoping the two of them would take the hint and drop it. She suddenly regretted bringing them both, between Isabela’s prying and Sebastian’s … well, Isabela’s curiosity about him. 

“But I have so many questions to ask him,” Isabela whined. Kalea glanced back at them over her shoulder right as the pirate hooked a thumb in her direction. “The magic bit, it’s nice, right? I especially like the-”

“Isabela!” Kalea halted once more, spinning to glare at the widely-grinning pirate.

Aveline raised an armored hand to her face, turning away as though Kalea couldn’t see the laughter in her shoulders. Kalea huffed, annoyed by all of her companions. Why was Fenris too busy to come today? “Let’s focus here. The Pit isn’t that much further.” 

“Hawke, wanting to focus on a mission?” Isabela’s smirk grew, eyes darting from Kalea to Sebastian. “You must have something good on her. Usually, Kitten’s all for talking about her conquests.” 

Kalea stomped her foot, arms crossing over her chest. “Dammit, Isabela! Drop it, or I swear to the Maker …” 

“You’ll what?” Still, Isabela let go of Sebastian and stepped away, though the smirk stayed on her lips.

Sebastian, flustering since the conversation turned on his and Kalea’s relationship, rubbed the back of his neck, eyes toward the Maker despite addressing the group. “Shouldn’t we focus on getting to the Bone Pit? I thought the matter was urgent.” 

Isabela snickered. “ _ Bone _ Pit.”  

Kalea shot her one last glare before restarting the trek to the Pit. “Hubert always says it’s urgent.”

“Because it is, Hawke,” Aveline chimed in. “Last time, we had to fend off drakes.”

“Well, it can’t be that. We killed every last one of those bastards.” 

Isabela clapped her hands together. “Oh, I think I remember hearing this one! Anders told me about it one of the times we were waiting for you to come home.” A pause and then, “How is Anders? I haven’t seen him around recently.”

“Busy,” Kalea shot, falling silent as she picked up her pace a little more. She tried not to think of him too often, lest her mind recall the image of him standing half naked in her bedroom, asking for something she couldn’t give. He then asked her to leave him alone while he processed, and she obliged, because they were still friends after all. Even if he thought of her as more. 

She knew it wasn’t her fault, but that did nothing to subside the guilt that churned in her stomach. When they first started sleeping together, she told him up front there was no chance for more. She thought he understood and accepted that. Isabela certainly did. 

A small sigh escaped her pinched lips anyway. 

* * *

 

The workers huddled outside the mines in clumps, whispering amongst themselves. Some eyed her approach before tightening their huddle. Blaming her for talking them into coming back, no doubt. But here she was, to clean up the mines once more, to deal with this mutiny. Shouldn’t there be some show of appreciation for this effort she put in? 

One of the braver ones, she tried to remember his name but came up blank, stepped up to greet her. “Serah Hawke. Thank the Maker you’re here.”

“What’s the situation?” 

“We’ve had to lock down the mines. Crankovich was clearing out a collapsed section when giant spiders poured out the new opening. They got Crankovich, poor sot. Rest of us made it out, but now we’re sitting here with our thumbs up our asses.”

“None of you thought to clear them out yourselves?”

“We’re only miners. The closest thing we have to a sword is our pickaxes.” 

Kalea groaned, her hand pressed to her temple. Of course this fell back on her, the same way it always did. “And if I clear them out, you’ll go back to work?”

“Right away.” The redhaired man hesitated, sensing her annoyance. “We want to work, Serah. We’re only asking not to be eaten in the process.” 

“Safe environment, workers’ rights. I get it.” Kalea’s hand moved off her forehead to wave him away. “Doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.” 

“Good luck in there, Serah.” The man moved back toward the other workers to inform them of her decision to help. 

Kalea turned to her own companions. “Did I ever tell you about the spider we fought in the Deep Roads? Monstrous bastard went down hard. Just these big hairy fucking legs. Fell from the fucking ceiling and damn near took Varric out!” 

Isabela rolled her eyes, Aveline following suit. “This Bone Pit is a lot less fun than the one in Antiva,” the pirate murmured. 

Kalea grinned, spinning around to lead the charge into the mine opening. “Let’s hope the bloody big ones stay down in the Deep Roads.” A ripple of agreement cascaded behind her. 

She unsheathed her staff to move forward, unsure of what to find. According to the redhead, they only lost one miner, which, all things considered, wasn’t terrible. They lost almost all of them with the drake infestation three years prior, so one out of -- how many were out there? Twenty?-- not too shabby. 

Signs of the spiders began to appear the deeper they travelled into the tunnels. Thick webs coated the walls, some blocking some of the path. Her fire burned up most of it, but she slowed her pace, cautious. “Stay close.They could be anywhere.” 

Something important tugged at the back of her mind as she proceeded, something she ought to remember. It felt like a similar situation from long ago, familiar like a memory that refused to resurface. She shoved the nagging sensation aside, choosing instead to focus in front of her. These fuckers came from anywhere, dropping down wherever they fucking pleased. She needed to remain alert unless she wanted to end up like her dead miner. 

Sebastian did look paler in the torchlight, beads of sweat clinging to his brow.

_ Shit _ . That thing she was supposed to remember, how could she forget that vital piece of information? He was  _ terrified  _ of spiders, probably cursing her under his breath for bringing him along. She swiveled her attention back towards the path, making a mental note to apologize later in private. It wasn’t like she knew there’d be spiders. 

They broke into a larger section of the mine, and as a chorus of hisses began from above, she cast a wall of fire and jumped back to where Sebastian prepared to fire his bow. “I swear, I didn’t know,” she whispered, pressing her back into his. One jumped down to her right, and she lobbed a fireball in its direction. It hit, the damn thing screaming as it shriveled up in the flame. 

“Don’t talk to me right now,” he snapped, firing off an arrow at one of the red and black acid-spitters that approached. He offered no quip when the arrow hit its mark, the spider reeling onto its back legs. Kalea threw flames in its direction to make sure it would stay down. 

“I want to help,” she growled, knocking her elbow back into his ribs. “I know how you are, so just …. stay close to me.” The ground shook under their feet. Kalea and Sebastian looked up at the same time in Aveline’s direction, where the warrior stood short before a monstrous fucking spider. 

“The one in the Deep Roads, did it look like that?” Sebastian’s voice squeaked; Kalea let the opportunity to make fun of it go. 

“Unfortunately.” She started to move forward, but when Sebastian didn’t move with her, she stopped. “We have to help. You can’t just stand here.” When her words did nothing to drive him forward, she grabbed his chin and tilted his face down so that their eyes met. “Oi, asshole. I told you that I got you. But you have to come with me, do you understand?”

“Will you two stop making eyes at each other and hit something,” Isabela called as she sliced at the spider’s legs with her daggers. 

That jarred Sebastian from his frozen terror. He shook her off and plucked an arrow from his quiver. “Help, aye. I can help. I need to help.” Kalea ignited the end of his arrow in flame and he released it, straight into one of the spider’s many eyes. It screeched, angry, one of its legs knocking into Isabela and sending her flying back. 

Kalea marched forward, casting fireball after fireball at its furry body, Sebastian matching her with his arrows. Aveline continued to hack at its legs with her sword, yelling with every slash at the foul creature. Isabela ducked back into the shadows after she arose from where she was tossed. But then a slash appeared under the monster, across its stomach. With a dying cry, it curled into itself like the others of its kind. 

Kalea set it aflame all the same, just to be sure. 

“Are we cleaning up the bodies?” Isabela wiped the goo from the beast off her daggers using her shirt. 

Kalea wanted to look to Sebastian, see how he faired. But he honest to goodness might pass out if she made him touch one. “Nah, leave it for the miners. We did enough, I think.” 

They started out, Aveline leading the way; Kalea hung back to touch a hand to Sebastian’s elbow. “You okay?”

“I’m going to have nightmares over this one.” 

She laughed, clapping him on the back. “You’re not coming back out with me again, are you?” 

“Give it time.” He shook off her touch and started forward to rejoin the others. But she reached out and grabbed his arm, her other hand reaching up into his hair. A large piece of web stuck to his hair, and she tugged it free. As it fell to the ground, he wrinkled his nose. “A lot of time.” 


End file.
